


The Princess Bride, by R. Child

by rabidchild67



Category: Princess Bride (1987), White Collar
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Crack, F/M, Humor, Multi, R.O.U.S.s, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-17
Updated: 2012-09-17
Packaged: 2017-11-14 11:13:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/514626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rabidchild67/pseuds/rabidchild67
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The White Collar/Princess Bride Fusion no one wanted!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part the First: In which we meet our plucky heroine

**Author's Note:**

> With apologies to William Goldman and the entire cast and creative team of the film...

****

Cast of Characters

**Elizabeth:** The Princess Bride, an innkeeper’s daughter  
 **Neal:** A stable boy and Elizabeth’s true love  
 **Peter:** A former lawman bent on revenge  
 **Jones:** A gentle giant  
 **Gordon Taylor:** A Sicilian  
 **Adler:** Evil, spoiled, entitled Prince of the realm  
 **Count Keller:** A sadistic meanie  
 **Miracle Moz:** A wizard and conspiracy theory enthusiast  
 **Sara:** A witch, Miracle Moz’s wife  
 **Kramer:** An albino/spineless toady  
 **Fowler:** The Captain of the castle guards  
 **Hughes:** An Impressive Clergyman

xXxXxXxXx

Elizabeth was raised an innkeeper’s daughter in a small village in the country of Manhattan. Her favorite pastimes were planning the weddings for the girls in her village and tormenting the stable boy that worked for her father. His name was Neal, but she never called him that. Nothing gave Elizabeth more pleasure than ordering Neal around.

“Stable Boy, carry these boxes of table linens out to the barn?”

“As you wish.”

“Stable Boy! Those flower arrangements aren’t going to deliver themselves!”

“As you wish.”

“Stable Boy, will you come here?”

Neal entered the kitchen where she stood, and he was so close that she could feel the warmth of his body on her arm. The breath caught in her throat, and she thought that surely Neal could hear the beating of her heart. “Will you fetch me that platter up there?” She pointed to a high shelf. “Please?”

“As you wish.” 

Neal leaned past her, his broad chest not touching her arm as he took the platter down, but Elizabeth could feel the energy pouring from him, almost as if she could read his mind. Because that day, she was amazed to discover that when he was saying, “As you wish,” what he really meant was, “I love you.” And even more amazing was that on this day, she realized she truly loved him back.

“I find I love you,” Elizabeth confessed some days later. They had stolen some time on the day when the wine merchant’s son and the third daughter of a minor earl were to be married.

Neal set the heavy cask of beer he carried down and walked up to her. She looked down modestly, but he hooked a finger under her chin and tilted her face up into the sunlight. He gazed down on her face, studying her features – her eyes, her turned-up nose, the fine hairs along her cheek – he didn’t ever want to forget a single detail of this moment. When they kissed, it was as if their hearts began to beat in time. “I love you too.”

Neal had no money for marriage, so he decided to leave the village to seek his fortune in the big city. It was a very emotional time for Elizabeth.

“I feel like I’ll never see you again.”

“You will. I’ll come back for you before you know it.”

“What if something happens to you? The wide world is a dangerous place,” Elizabeth fretted.

“Listen to me carefully: I will always come for you.”

“How can you be so sure?”

Neal smiled down on her. “This is True Love, El. Do you think this happens every day?” 

With a final kiss, Neal took his leave. Elizabeth watched the space in the road where last she saw him until the sun went down and her father called her for dinner. 

But Neal didn’t reach the big city; on the way, the party he was traveling in was attacked by the Dread Highwayman Caffrey, who ruthlessly killed all of his victims, never leaving any survivors. 

When Elizabeth got the news of Neal's death, she took to her room and didn’t come out for days as her grief consumed her utterly, taking up all the joy she had for herself or others. Five years passed and she never planned another wedding, for she could not bear to see her friends and acquaintances attain the happiness that had been taken from her so cruelly. 

She knew she would never love again.

Fortunately – or unfortunately, depending on your perspective – Elizabeth’s work on the Earl’s daughter’s wedding had not gone unnoticed, and before long she was summoned to the Palace for an audience with Prince Adler. He was planning a party for his mother the Queen's 75th birthday, and despite Elizabeth’s distaste for party planning, she could not refuse him.

The party was a success, of course, for Elizabeth never did anything by half-measures, and during the planning stages, she and the Prince were much thrown together. One day, as they sat together settling accounts, he stood, cleared his throat and addressed her with his hand on his chest.

“Elizabeth, you are one of the most beautiful maids in the land.”

“Okaaay…”

“I know that this is perhaps something of a shock to you, but I must confess a deep-seated regard for you.”

Elizabeth looked at him levelly; she did, indeed, find it surprising that Adler, widely known as perhaps the most self-absorbed man in the Two Kingdoms, would notice any woman, much less one beneath him in terms of rank.

When she did not respond, he continued. “There comes a time in every young man’s life…”

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow – Adler was far from young.

“…when his heart and soul turn to thoughts of love. It has been some time since mine came to that conclusion, and they have set their sights on you.”

“I’m sorry, you what now?” Elizabeth had no patience for flowery words and preferred her speeches plainer.

“I love you.”

“Ah.”

“And perhaps it is presumptuous of me, for you may very well have a beau of your own, but would you consider a man such as me as quality husband material?”

Elizabeth’s emptiness in the wake of Neal's death had long consumed her, and while she gave the proposition of marrying the Prince some consideration, she didn’t think she had much to lose. At least she would lead the remainder of her misery-filled life in relative comfort.

“Why not?”

\----

Elizabeth ran swiftly down the slope toward the river, her faithful golden dog Satchmo at her heels. The only joy she had since accepting Adler were her daily walks in the expansive parklands of the Palace. She stood on an outcropping of rocks, throwing sticks into the water for the dog to fetch, when she became aware that she was no longer alone.

“What – who are you?” she said, trying to keep the fear from her voice. Before her stood three men, and a more intimidating group she could not imagine. The first was a large, mountain of a man, with Moorish features and hands the size of dinner plates. The second was tall, though not as tall as the first, with kind, brown eyes set in in a horrifyingly scarred face. The third was shorter than them both, handsome in an oily way, and dressed in what appeared to be fine silks and brocades.

It was the third one who spoke to her. “A word, my lady. We are but poor, lost entertainers in search of the nearest town. Is there one nearby?”

“I’m afraid there is no village around, not for miles – this is private property.”

“Then there will be no one to hear you scream!”

Elizabeth did manage a scream – a fair few of them, in fact – but the giant moved surprisingly swiftly for a man his size, and though she fought her hardest, she was no match for him. He wrapped a great paw around her pretty throat, and she knew no more.


	2. Part the Second: In which there are Shrieking Eels

Peter watched Taylor rip some sort of insignia from an article of clothing, snag it on Princess Elizabeth’s dog’s collar and smack the poor thing on the ass to make it run back towards the Palace. “What is that?”

“It’s the badge of an army officer from the kingdom of Jardin, across the sea.”

“Why would you do that?”

“Jardin is the sworn enemy of Manhattan. Once the dog reaches the castle, the fabric will provide evidence that the Jardinians have abducted the Prince’s love. When he finds her body dead on the Jardin frontier, his suspicions will be totally confirmed.”

“You never said anything about killing her,” Jones pointed out, beginning to be uncomfortable with this plan.

“I hired you to help me start a war between two rival states. Did you think there would be no killing?”

“I just don’t think it’s right to hurt an innocent girl…”

“I have to agree,” Peter piped in.

“Did I _say_ this was a democracy? I hired you for your brawn,” he pointed at Jones, “and you for your sword,” he gestured dismissively at Peter. “If I wanted a lecture in ethics, I’d have brought an Aristotelian scholar.”

“I don’t think you’ve got that right,” Peter said. “Aristotle’s view of self-realization would be completely at odds with what might be termed a modern view of applied ethics. He probably wouldn’t have had much of a problem with this plan, actually.”

“I agree,” said Jones. “You could argue that you had a deontological imperative, but I don’t think that would hold water. You’re being paid after all, aren’t you?”

“Shut up and put the girl in the boat, you brobdingnagian bonehead!” Taylor yelled and stormed off.

Jones pouted. “Well, that’s hardly fair,” he said quietly as he bent to pick Princess Elizabeth up. “I did go to Harvard.”

Peter stayed him with a hand on his great bicep, then bent to lift the princess up himself. “And I went to Cornell.” He shrugged. “You know how it is with guys who went to a state school – such a chip on their shoulders.” He smiled encouragingly at the gentle giant, who was really quite sensitive about his size generally, and in fact stuck to a strict regimen to keep himself fit. 

Peter looked down at the young woman in his arms and wondered vaguely what she could have done to deserve any of this. Probably nothing, he realized. People whose fates were tied up in starting wars were often pretty blameless. There was a time when he would have done something about it, when he would have tried. But there was no time to think about that now – there had been a whole lot of things he’d done to regret since that time – and a whole lot of brandy consumed so that he could try to forget them all.

They made their way to the sailboat Taylor had commissioned that would take them away to Jardin, and Peter laid Princess Elizabeth down in the bow. He took great care in making sure she would be comfortable – no telling how long she’d be out. He straightened out her dress and smoothed her long, shiny hair and sighed. She was beautiful, there was no denying it, and would have been just the type to turn his head when he was younger, with a life full of hope and promise ahead of him. 

He shook his head, discarding such thoughts as inappropriate. He was in the vengeance business now, he didn’t have time to think about pretty girls and the stopping or starting of wars that had nothing to do with him.

\----

Princess Elizabeth woke to the gentle swaying of a boat and the cry of a gull overhead. She opened her eyes and looked around, suppressing a shiver of fear as she confirmed for herself that she had, in fact, been kidnapped, and her abductors were talking around her.

“We’ll reach the Palisades by dawn… why are you doing that?” said the small man.

The scarred man, who had been staring out to sea behind them turned his head. “You sure no one’s following us?”

“That would be inconceivable.”

“Not really,” Elizabeth said, never one to stay quiet and meek in any situation. “Prince Adler will come for me and then you will all be hanged for your crimes.”

The short man stomped over to her and sneered, “Of all the necks on this boat, Highness, the one you should be worrying about is your own.” She was about to retort when he looked over at the scarred man, who was still staring out at sea, and turned his acrimony on him. “Stop doing that! We are almost away! We can all relax, it's almost over.”

“Yeah, I’m not so sure, Taylor. I’d swear someone’s following us.”

“I told you that would be utterly inconceivable. No one in Manhattan knows what we’re up to, and no one in Jardin could have gotten here so fast.” Taylor made a dismissive gesture and returned to the front of the boat. “Out of curiosity, why do you ask?”

The scarred man shrugged. “It’s probably nothing, but when I looked behind us just now, suddenly there is another boat there.”

Taylor stomped back over and peered out into the darkness. “I’m sure it’s just some locals out on a pleasure cruise. At night. In eel-infested waters.”

Elizabeth took the opportunity of this distraction to make a break for it. If there were, in fact, sailors in a boat behind them, she knew she was a strong enough swimmer to make it to them. She dove into the water, ignoring the cold shock of it, and swam as hard as she could.

“You’ll never get away!” the man named Taylor yelled after her. “Will you turn the thing around, already?!” he shouted at the giant.

Elizabeth ignored them all and kept swimming. But suddenly, something large brushed up against her leg and it made her stop, panicked.

“Turn around! To starboard! Or prow! Left! Go left!”

Elizabeth could hear the creaking of the boat’s rigging as it was turned about, but she was more concerned with the fact that she didn’t seem to be alone in the water at the moment. Something – two somethings, actually – were swimming around her, and the night’s quiet was suddenly rent by a piercing sound that utterly terrified her. She cast about, looking for its source, frantically treading water.

“Do you hear that, my lady? Those are the shrieking eels,” Taylor was calling after her, taunting her. “If you swim back now, I promise I’ll not harm you for trying to escape. But the eels… the eels will show you no such mercy!”

Another shriek ramped up the panic in Elizabeth’s chest and she hardly knew what to do or which direction to take. 

“They always get louder before they feed!” Taylor called to her, and she was sure he was enjoying the effect his words were having on her, the sadistic little toad. The brushing of another eel’s body against her legs made her shriek a little. She turned around and saw, coming toward her, the gaping maw of a giant eel, its jaws lined with sharp, dagger-like teeth, and she drew breath again.

But before she could utter another scream, she felt a strong hand grab onto the collar of her dress as the giant lifted her out of the water, and out of harm’s way. The head of the eel bashed against the side of the boat and it and its companion swam away.

Elizabeth lay huddled in the bottom of the boat miserably, arms pulled up around herself, soaked and shivering uncontrollably. She wasn’t sure if her shaking was more from the water, the eels, or her current plight, but she decided she didn’t much care.

The man with the scarred face came over to her and helped her to a more comfortable sitting position, then draped a coarse blanket around her shoulders. He gently pushed the sodden hair out of her face and smiled, and again she was struck by the kindness she saw in his eyes. “Th-thank you, sir,” she said to him sincerely.

He ducked his head and his cheeks colored slightly, but he said nothing to her.

\----


	3. Part the Third: In which there is a thrilling sword fight

Elizabeth startled awake as someone spoke, his voice cutting through the early morning quiet. 

“He’s practically on top of us,” Peter said, peering through the early morning mist at the dark ship that, despite Taylor’s assertions to the contrary, was clearly following them.

“Inconceivable!” Taylor said, striding over to the rear of the boat. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter – we’re arriving at the Palisades and whoever he is, he will not be able to follow us.”

Peter glanced at Jones and they both shrugged. Elizabeth, for her part, sat huddled in her spot and ignored them all.

Eventually, they arrived at the great cliffs known as the Palisades that formed the eastern border of Jardin. Taylor had Jones maneuver the boat into a rocky little inlet that wasn’t deep enough for a safe mooring – basically, he had him run the boat aground since he said they were never going to be using it again. 

Elizabeth allowed herself to be helped to the rocky beach by the scar-faced man called Peter, who lifted her easily with his hands at her waist. She followed him and the others reluctantly to the very base of the cliff, where she now could see the end of a very long, very thick rope dangling. Peering up into the sky, she saw that it extended all the way up the cliff face, which was so tall and vast that she could not see the top from here. It was no wonder that the Palisades were also nicknamed “The Cliffs of Insanity.” She swallowed nervously as she put two and two together and the four it made up meant they’d be climbing up that sheer rock face.

As if sensing her disquiet, the giant Jones patted her gently on the shoulder with a great hand, which had the unfortunate effect of making her stumble under the weight of it. He caught her and then smiled an apology at her before setting to work. He unpacked a bundle he had brought with him and unraveled it on the sand of the beach. It soon became apparent to Elizabeth as Jones arranged it around himself that is was some sort of bizarre three-man harness. He beckoned for her to come nearer and, trusting the gentle man who had saved her life only hours before, allowed him to loop the harness around her person, followed by the other two men. Bowing her head, she buried her face in his expansive chest and clutched at his shirt with her hands.

“Don’t worry, my lady,” he murmured to her. “I am the strongest man in the Two Kingdoms – I was even in the newspaper! You have nothing to fear.”

She looked into his friendly, brown eyes and saw his sincerity and gave him a small smile. “I believe you. Thank you for being so kind.”

He colored as he returned her smile and then began to haul the three of them up the rope, slowly but surely.

They were half way up when the rope seemed to pull taut beneath them. 

“He’s climbing up the rope,” Peter observed, amazed. Elizabeth daren’t look, but she surmised he was talking about the man in the mysterious boat that had followed them from Manhattan.

“Inconceivable! Go faster, giant!” Taylor shouted.

“I thought I was going pretty fast.”

Taylor glared at him, his displeasure plain on his face. “You were _supposed_ to be this colossus, you were this great, legendary thing. Strongest in the land, pshaw!”

“Stongest in the Two Kingdoms!” Jones corrected him, stung by his sarcasm.

“Yet he gains!”

“Well, I’m carrying three people, and he’s only got himself.”

“ _That’s_ your excuse? Am I going to have to find myself a new giant?”

“Aw, come on!” Peter protested.

“You don’t mean it,” Jones said, hurt. “Take it back.”

“Did I not make it clear that your job is on the line?” Taylor sneered. 

Jones bit at his trembling lip and kept climbing, but Elizabeth could see how deeply he was hurt and she felt for him. 

Before long, they were at the top of the cliff, and Elizabeth crawled over to a very large boulder nearby to get as far away from the edge as she could. She’d never considered herself the type of person to be afraid of heights, but this experience was enough to make her think twice about it. 

When she’d caught her breath she saw that the three men were standing over by the edge, looking down on the mysterious man who had followed them from Manhattan. 

“He’s got very strong arms,” Jones commented, giving credit where it was due.

“How has he not fallen yet? Shake the rope or something,” Taylor ordered.

“That doesn’t seem sporting.”

Taylor rolled his eyes and sighed. “Fine!” He strode over to the boulder to which the thick rope had been secured, pulled a dagger from his belt and sawed at the rope, letting the ends slither through his hands and to the cliff’s edge to disappear forever. Feeling satisfied with himself, he returned to the edge and peered over. “Inconceivable!”

Elizabeth could guess what he found so amazing – the man must not have fallen. She said a silent prayer for his safety, but didn’t like his chances with Taylor peering down on him. 

“Hey, I only went to a private school upstate, but I don’t think you’re using that word properly,” Peter pointed out. Taylor merely glared at him; Peter glanced over the cliff. “He’s climbing!”

“Whoever he is, he’s seen us with the princess and must therefore die. Giant!”

“Jones,” Jones corrected.

Taylor glared at him again. “Giant, carry the girl – we’ll make for the frontier. You – swordsman, finish _him_ off!” He pointed at the man in black with his chin and then turned to go.

“I’ll fight him left-handed,” Peter thought out loud.

“You know we’re on a schedule, right?”

“It is the only way I can be satisfied,” Peter said. “If I use my right hand, it’ll be over too quickly. Wouldn’t be fair.”

Taylor sighed, exasperated. “Fine. Whatever. Just catch up to us as fast as you can – we have much to do!” Taylor stomped away on his tiny legs, muttering to himself.

Jones pulled Elizabeth to her feet and gave Peter a worried look. “Be careful – people in masks can’t be trusted.” Peter nodded and the worried giant set off after Taylor, escorting a reluctant Princess Elizabeth.

\----

Peter remained behind, stretching. Even if it would hardly be a fair fight, it wouldn’t do to fight the Man in Black without first warming up – he didn’t want to pull a hammie. Minutes later, he went over to the cliff’s edge to gauge the mystery man’s progress. He clung to the rocks about fifty feet down, moving upward mere inches at a time.

“Slow going?” Peter called to him. 

The Man in Black looked up at him, and winced. “I don't mean to be rude, but this is not as easy as it looks, so I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't distract me.”

“Fair enough.” Peter removed his sword from its scabbard and gave a few test swings, the point of his blade whistling through the air. After the relative inactivity of the last few days, his muscles seemed relieved to be put through their paces once more. At last, however, he could warm up no more and returned to the cliff. The Man in Black still clung to the rock face, but had made little progress. “Don’t suppose you could speed this up? I have a schedule apparently.”

The Man in Black cocked his head to the side as he regarded Peter. “If you're in such a hurry, maybe you could go find a rope or something?”

Peter nodded once, but thought it only sporting to inform him, “I could do that – there’s still some rope up here. I’m not so sure you want my help, though, since I’m only waiting around to kill you.”

“That is unfortunate.”

“Though I will promise not to do it until you reach the top.”

“Thanks… but you’ll forgive me for not believing you.”

“It’s your prerogative. But I really do hate waiting. I could give you my word as a sheriff not to harm you.”

“Normally, that would be comforting,” the Man in Black said through gritted teeth as he nearly lost his left toe hold. “But as I’ve just caught you kidnapping a princess, you’ll forgive me for not believing you.”

Peter shrugged and nodded, seeing his point. “There’s no other way?”

“Nothing that springs immediately to mind.”

Peter considered, then leaned over the edge, his face grave. “I swear on the soul of my most beloved friend, Diana Berrigan, slain these many years, that you will reach the top alive.”

The Man in Black nodded tersely. “Throw me the rope.”

Peter unraveled an appropriate length of rope from the great boulder and fed it down to the Man in Black, who made quick work of climbing up to the top. He lay on the edge of the cliff panting for a few moments, and when he looked up at Peter, his bright blue eyes shone with gratitude. “Thank you,” he said, and then rolled over and rose up on his knees.

Peter noticed that his arms were still trembling from the exertion, and held a hand out to stay him. “We’ll wait until you have rested for a bit – regained your strength.”

“Again, thank you.”

“Hey, listen, I don’t mean to pry, but you don’t have six fingers on your hand?”

The Man in Black sat back on his heels and held out his gloved hands. “Ten fingers. And you’ll have to trust me on the number of toes, but there are ten of those too.”

Peter nodded.

“Do you always begin conversations this way?”

Peter sighed and shook his head slowly. “No. But my deputy was slaughtered by a six-fingered man. She was a terrific person, my Diana, and she was also my ward. She was young, bright – and I loved her like a daughter. It made me very happy to teach her everything I knew about the law, and she was proud to be my deputy. She was smart, and I like smart.

“But then a six-fingered man came into our district, and broke our laws, and when Diana went to question him, he killed her. When I went to look for her, he caught me and tortured me, but for some reason, he left me alive. And he gave me these,” he indicated the long scars that stood out on each cheek. 

“How long ago?”

“Ten years. You see, the six-fingered man was a nobleman, and he thought he could to what he wanted, and so he wanted to teach me that lesson. But he was also a great swordsman, and he bested me that day. So when I was well enough, I quit my job as sheriff and traveled the world, dedicating myself to the study of fencing, because I knew that one day I would again meet this man, and when I do, I will say to him, ‘Hello. My name is Peter Burke and you killed my daughter. Prepare to die.’” 

“But you have not yet found him.”

“Much to my regret,” Peter said. “And so lately, I’ve just been a sword for hire, because upholding the law has left a bitter taste in my mouth. That’s how I hooked up with Taylor. It pays the bills – and buys a lot of brandy.”

“I see,” the Man in Black said and got to his feet.

“I take it you are ready?”

He took the sword at his belt into his left hand and gave a few practice swings. “As I’ll ever be, and you’ve been more than fair.”

“You seem like a nice person, I’m sorry I have to kill ya.”

“And you seem like a nice person. I hate to die.”

“Shall we?” With that, Peter went immediately on the offensive, the Man in Black parrying his thrusts and feinting madly. “Ah, I see you are using Bonetti's defense against me,” Peter observed.

“I thought it fitting, given the rocky terrain.”

“Naturally, you must expect me to attack with Capo Ferro.”

The Man in Black advanced, his tongue peeking out of his mouth as he concentrated. “Naturally, but I find that Thibault cancels Capo Ferro, don't you?” With that, he unleashed a tricky maneuver on Peter that he had only ever seen once before – and this from his favorite instructor, a Spaniard.

“A valid defense, unless your enemy hasn't studied his Agrippa, which I have!” 

The Man in Black then retreated, but he was not running. No, he scaled a nearby outcropping of rock so that he could have the advantage of a higher terrain. Peter had to admit to admiring his tactics. “You are wonderful!”

“Thank you. I've worked hard.”

“I’ll even admit that you are better than me,” Peter said with some effort as he feinted back on a tricky around-the-back maneuver the Man in Black tossed at him. He recovered, and grinned at his opponent.

“Why are you smiling?”

“Because I know something you don't know.”

“What might that be?”

“I am not left-handed!” Peter again feinted with his left and effortlessly switched hands, renewing his attack on the Man in Black, who backed away as Peter gained the upper hand once again. Sensing he was perhaps in trouble, the Man in Black leapt up and off the rocks where they stood, executing a perfect back-flip and landing squarely on his feet.

Impressed but not willing to trust his ankles to bear up well for such a maneuver, Peter climbed down carefully and then kicked off another assault with a shouted, “Oh ho!” 

“You are amazing,” the Man in Black admitted after a few minutes.

“I ought to be after all this time.”

“But there is something I ought to tell you.”

“Hmm?” Peter launched a particularly savage swipe at the Man in Black’s head, which he deftly ducked. When he came up again, he tossed his sword from left to right and smiled at Peter, his teeth white and gleaming in the sun.

“I am not left-handed either!” 

With that, the tenor of the Man in Black’s attack changed. Where before he had seemed to be tentative, now Peter realized he had only been playing with him, learning all of his tricks and techniques, which he now turned against him. It did not take Peter long to realize his opponent would soon defeat him. He unleashed a last, desperate assault, but the Man in Black anticipated it, flipping Peter’s sword so that it flew off into the distance. Before Peter could retaliate, he’d taken Peter’s sword arm in his and pushed him back. The wind was knocked out of Peter as he crashed into the rocky outcropping they had only minutes ago been fighting upon.

Peter let his head fall back against the rock as the fight left him, content with the knowledge that he had at least been bested by a man who was in all ways his technical superior. “Kill me quickly,” he begged, staring into the impossible depth of the Man in Black’s blue eyes, which softened as he registered the despair in Peter’s.

“I would sooner destroy a great painting by Raphael as an artist like you,” he murmured, and Peter let out the breath he was holding. “However, since I can't have you following me either…”

Peter didn’t see the Man in Black’s hand come down, but he heard the muffled thud as he hit him with the butt end of his sword, and he felt the pain, of course. But he also felt his strong arms catch him as he fell to the ground, and a gloved hand squeeze his shoulder reassuringly. “Well fought,” Peter heard him say before he lost consciousness.

\----


	4. Part the Fourth: In which there is a battle of strength and one of wits

Jones stood behind Taylor and watched as the Man in Black ran across the great plain they had just traversed, clearly having beaten Peter. A stab of worry for this friend pierced his heart and he dearly hoped that Peter had survived their battle.

“Inconceivable!” Taylor spat. “I can’t even believe this.”

“He is dogged in his pursuit of us.”

Taylor peered up at him and raised an eyebrow, then took the princess’ elbow and pulled her to him. “Here, give her to me – you stay behind and stop the Man in Black. Finish him your way.”

“My way? How am I supposed to do that?”

Taylor scrubbed his face with his left hand and took several deep breaths, clearly impatient with him, but Jones was at a loss as to why. “Pick up one of those rocks, get behind that boulder. In a few minutes, when the Man in Black comes running around the bend, you _hit him in the head with the rock!!_ ”

Jones blinked. “My way’s not very sportsmanlike.”

Taylor stalked off with the princess without saying another word to him, but phrases drifted back to Jones, ones he recognized, like “idiot” and “hippopotamic landmass.” But he was nothing if not a good follower of orders, and, once the Man in Black appeared, he launched a rock the size of a melon at the boulder just beside him, deliberately missing. The rock disintegrated on impact, causing the Man in Black to skid to a stop and regard Jones with a mixture of shock and surprise.

Jones hefted another rock and blinked at the Man in Black. “I did that on purpose. I didn’t have to miss.”

The Man in Black held his hands out in front of him, showing Jones his palms. “I believe you. Now what?”

“We face each other as God intended – sportsmanlike. No weapons, just mano-a-mano.”

“So what, you put down the rocks, and I put down my sword, and we try to kill each other like civilized people?”

“Or I could kill you now,” Jones said, juggling the rock in the palm of his hand.

The Man in Black looked him up and down. “I’d say the odds are slightly in your favor.”

“It’s not my fault I’m the biggest, but I do work hard to keep fit.”

“I can tell.” The man removed his scabbard and laid it on the ground, then took a step forward and affected a boxing stance. 

Jones smiled and gestured for him to come closer. “I won’t bite.”

The Man in Black charged, and began pummeling Jones’ midsection ineffectively with punch after punch until he was panting and out of breath. He stared up, and Jones smiled down on him, then brought a fist down on top of his head, knocking him to the ground, where he sat shaking his head. Jones paused to let him get his feet under him. 

“Look, are you just screwing with me?” he asked, shaking his head again to clear it.

“I just want you to feel like you’re doing well. I wouldn’t want you to die feeling you hadn’t accomplished anything.” With that, Jones threw a massive fist at the man’s head, but he ducked it easily. “You’re quick,” he observed, aiming a kick at his midsection that he also ducked.

“And a good thing it is; those hands of yours are the size of Easter hams.”

“Thank you. Why do you wear that mask, anyway? Do you have some disfiguring scar or something?”

“Oh no, they’re just very _de rigeur_ at the moment – very popular in Paris and Milan. I like to keep on top of men’s fashions.” 

“You are very nicely dressed,” Jones observed.

The Man in Black dodged another swing from Jones and then climbed up on a nearby boulder. Alarmed, Jones tried to turn, but he was already too late. The Man in Black had jumped onto his back and looped his arm around Jones’ massive neck, putting him in a sleeper hold. Jones struggled to shake him, but he would not be moved.

“I just figured out why you are giving me so much trouble,” Jones gasped.

“Why is that?”

“I’m a bit rrrrrusty.” Jones blinked his eyes – his vision was beginning to dim. He blindly backed up in the general direction of the collection of boulders that stood nearby, smashing the man on his back against them. 

“Rusty how?” The Man in Black groaned, but his hold on Jones did not waver.

“Well, I’ve mostly been fighting groups lately, you know, battling gangs for local charities, that kind of thing.” He spotted a large oak tree nearby and began to stumble toward it, aiming to dislodge the man on his back against one of its great branches.

“So what – are the moves that different?”

“Oh, sure…” Jones gasped. “Plus you use… different… tools. Trees… entire cannons… that…kind of…” Jones shook his head as his vision began to tunnel. Or rather, he tried to shake his head, as the Man in Black’s sleeper hold on him was impossible to budge. He fell to one knee, and could feel the shaking in his limbs as the oxygen was cut off to his brain. At last, it became too much for him and he fell over sideways, landing half atop the Man in Black with a moan.

\----

Princess Elizabeth sat demurely on an old log beside her captor, the man named Taylor, her hands tied and lying in her lap. In front of them was a camp table, a jug of wine and two goblets. While she normally strove to remain calm in the face of adversity, her composure cracked just a little and she gasped in surprise when she say the Man in Black climb to the top of the hill where they were seated. 

He was tall, clad in black breeches, boots, shirt, and waistcoat but no jacket of any kind. His mask was a scrap of silk with two eye holes in it, gathered over the crown of his head and tied at the back, obscuring the entire top half of his face. The bottom half of his face was constructed as well as any man’s, she supposed, his jaw strong and angular, his nose straight and aquiline, his mouth… his mouth seemed to be held in a permanent sneer. And his eyes… they were the color of sapphires, and as hard, and flashed when angry, which seemed to be most of the time from what she could see. 

There was now no doubt in her mind who he was – his features confirmed it, but somehow she always thought she’d know him if ever she had the opportunity to meet him. For he was, of course, the Dread Highwayman Caffrey, the man who had killed her love.

He strode up to them and stood there, hands on his hips. 

“So it is down to just the two of us,” Taylor said.

“Come now, let me explain,” said Caffrey.

“There’s nothing to explain. You’re trying to kidnap what I have rightfully stolen.”

Caffrey shrugged. “Possession _is_ nine-tenths of the law. Perhaps we can make an arrangement?”

Taylor moved swiftly and suddenly, pulling a long, thin stiletto from his belt and holding it against Elizabeth’s throat. She could not stop the shocked gasp that came from her as the knife pricked her slightly; she could feel a droplet of blood slowly oozing down. 

“There will be no arrangement,” Taylor said, his voice calm and icy.

Caffrey spread his hands. “Then we are at an impasse.”

“It would appear so. I cannot compete with you physically, and you are no match for my superior intellect.”

“You’re that smart?”

“Let me put it to you this way – ever heard of Plato, Newton, DaVinci?”

“Of course.”

“Morons.”

Caffrey shifted his weight and folded his arms, taking his chin in his hand. “Really. Then in that case, I challenge you to a battle of wits.”

“For the princess?” 

Caffrey nodded.

“To the death?”

“I would have it no other way.”

“I accept.”

Caffrey nodded and smiled mirthlessly, then took a seat at the table across from Taylor. Reaching into his waistcoat, he pulled out a small vial and unstoppered it. “Smell this, but take care not to touch it,” he said, handing it to Taylor. 

Taylor sheathed his weapon and took the vial. “I smell nothing,” he said and handed it back.

“What you don’t smell is called Iocaine powder. It is odorless, tasteless, dissolves instantly in liquid, and is one of the most deadly poisons known to man.”

“Hmmm,” Taylor said, eyes lighting up at the impending game.

“Pour the wine,” Caffrey told him. When he had done it, the highwayman took up the two goblets, turned his back for a moment, and then put them down on the camp table – one in front of himself, and one in front of Taylor. “Where is the poison?” he announced with a flourish. “Our battle of wits has begun. It ends when you decide and we both drink, and then we find out who is right – and who is dead.”

Taylor smiled like a predator, dark eyes glittering; the sight made Elizabeth’s blood run cold. “But it's so very simple. All I have to do is make a deduction based on what I know of you: are you the sort of man who would put the poison into his own goblet or his enemy's? Now, a clever man would put the poison into his own goblet, because he would know that only a great fool would reach for what he was given. I am not a great fool, so I can clearly not choose the wine in front of you. But you must have known I was not a great fool, you would have counted on it, so I can clearly not choose the wine in front of me.”

“That’s your decision, then?”

Taylor scoffed. “Not remotely. Because Iocaine comes from Australia, as even Ivy League grads know, and Australia is entirely peopled with criminals, and criminals are accustomed to people not trusting them, as you are not trusted by me, so I can clearly not choose the wine in front of you.”

“You have a dizzying intellect.”

“ _Just wait until I get going!_ ” Taylor crowed, cackling like a mad man. “Now where was I? Ah yes. You must have suspected I would have known the powder's origin, so I can clearly not choose the wine in front of me.”

“You’re just vamping now.”

Taylor chuckled. “You'd like to think that, wouldn't you? OK now, you've beaten my giant, which means you're exceptionally strong, so you could've put the poison in your own goblet, thinking your strength might save you, so I can clearly not choose the wine in front of you. But, you've also bested my swordsman, which means you must have studied, and in studying you must have learned that man is mortal, so you would have put the poison as far away as possible, so I can clearly not choose the wine in front of me.”

“You’re trying to trick me into revealing something. It won’t work.”

“Ah, but is HAS worked! You’ve given everything away already. I know exactly where the poison is!”

Elizabeth could see the muscles bunching in Caffrey’s jaw. “Then make your choice.”

“Good heavens, is that a mockingbird?” Taylor said, pointing somewhere over Caffrey’s shoulder.

“What? Where?” Caffrey said, turning.

Elizabeth was careful to keep her expression neutral as Taylor switched the goblets on the table before Caffrey could turn back around. 

“There’s nothing there.”

“My bad. Shall we drink, then?” Taylor said, and picked up the goblet in front of him. Both men watched each other warily, but Elizabeth was surprised to see that they both took a healthy swallow of the wine. 

There was a smirk on Caffrey’s face. “You guessed wrong,” he said triumphantly.

“Ah ha ha ha!” Taylor crowed, pointing at him. “You only _think_ I guessed wrong! That's what's so funny! I switched the goblets when your back was turned! Ha ha! You fool! You fell victim to one of the classic blunders! The most famous of which is never get involved in a land war in Asia, but only _slightly less well-known_ is this: never go up against a Sicilian when DEATH IS ON THE LINE! Ah ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!! Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!! Ah ha ha—“ 

Suddenly, Taylor keeled over mid-laugh, causing Elizabeth to jump and stare down at his lifeless face. She could feel the blood drain from her face as she looked at Caffrey, open-mouthed. “So the poison was in your cup all along?” she breathed.

“They were both poisoned,” Caffrey said matter-of-factly. “I’ve spent the last five years slowly building up an immunity to Iocaine powder.” He got up and took hold of her bound hands, hauling her roughly to her feet. “Now let’s go.”

\----


	5. Part the Fifth: In which we delve into the Fire Swamp

Prince Adler and his men rode up on horses to the clearing where, earlier, the Dread Highwayman Caffrey had defeated Jones. He slid from the back of his steed and closely inspected this latest site in his pursuit of the men who’d kidnapped the Princess Elizabeth. He got to his knees, inspected the displaced soil, got up and followed the various footprints, the broken twigs and tamped-down grass, seeing all the telltale signs of a fight. 

“Someone has beaten a giant!” he pronounced to his assembled men, who made appropriately impressed faces. 

Count Keller, for his part, sat serenely atop his own horse and raised an eyebrow. “You don’t say.”

“I do, indeed. But what to make of it? When added to the evidence of the great sword fight we saw earlier, it makes for a most baffling chain of events.”

Keller raised his other eyebrow and yawned. “Indeed.”

“One I’m determined to get to the bottom of. Come, we ride!” Adler said, leaping dramatically back into the saddle. “There will be great suffering in Jardin if she dies!” he said, making sure that that his best side was facing his men, and that his voice cracked with just the right amount of emotion.

\----

Elizabeth struggled to keep up with Caffrey, but being knocked unconscious, nearly drowning and being eaten, the loss of sleep, and constant, abject terror of the last 24 hours had begun to take a toll. The man seemed to take pity on her when he saw her stumbling, and called a halt to their flight across the plains of Jardin. He shoved her to the ground, where she landed gracefully. “Catch your breath,” he ordered.

She peered up at him, her eyes squinting from the glare of the bright sun overhead. “If it’s ransom you’re after, whatever it is, I promise you’ll get it,” she informed him gravely.

Caffrey snorted bitterly. “And what is that worth, the promise of a woman? Don’t make me laugh.” 

Elizabeth’s eyes flashed angrily at his mockery. “Whatever – I was just trying to give you a chance. In the end, it won’t matter where you take me, because there is no hunter greater than Prince Adler. He can track a falcon on a cloudy day, he’ll find you, mark my words.”

“You think your dearest love will save you?”

Elizabeth recoiled. “I never said he was my dearest love. But he will save me, that I know.”

“So you admit you do not love your betrothed?”

“What of it? He knows I don’t love him.”

“Are not capable of love, you mean.”

Elizabeth narrowed her eyes and could not keep the contempt from her voice, despite the fact she knew antagonizing this man would not be wise. “I have loved more deeply than a murderer such as you will ever understand.” She flinched as he raised a gloved hand against her, but did not turn away. He stayed his hand, but she could see that he was shaking with barely controlled fury.

“Consider that a warning, Highness,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “Next time, I won’t be so merciful. Where I come from, there are consequences when a woman lies.”

\----

Adler stood beside Taylor’s dead body and toed at it with disgust, then leant over and took up one of the wine goblets that remained on the table. “Iocaine powder – I’d stake my life on it.”

“Do tell,” Count Keller said with a bored tone, removing a glove to inspect his fingernails. 

Adler met his eyes and then looked away with a smirk. He clenched his fist in front of his face and made sure he trembled with emotion just a little. “She was alive – or was an hour ago. If she is otherwise when I find her, I shall be very peevish.”

\----

Elizabeth was surprised when Caffrey once again stopped; she nearly ran into the back of him. She’d fallen into a desperate rhythm of laying one foot in front of the other and was utterly exhausted, and hadn’t expected him to pay much attention to her comfort. She raised her head and saw that they had come to the edge of a steep gully. 

“Rest,” Caffrey said to her, and she sank gratefully to the ground.

“I know who you are, you know.” He turned to face her. "You’re the Dread Highwayman Caffrey – your cruelty confirms it.”

Caffrey bowed. “At your service. What can I do for you?”

“You can die a thousand times, in anguish and alone!”

He laughed humorlessly. “Tsk-tsk-tsk, Highness, is that how a lady talks? Why unleash your venom upon me, a poor traveler?”

Elizabeth couldn’t keep the grief from her voice when she spoke. “You killed my love.”

Instead of denying it, he drew himself up and placed a hand on his chin thoughtfully. “That’s very possible – I kill a lot of people. Who was this love of yours? Another prince? Fat, smelly?”

“He was a stable boy. Poor and perfect. With eyes like the clear sky after a hurricane. He was traveling in a caravan when you and your men attacked, and the Dread Highwayman Caffrey leaves no survivors.”

Caffrey shrugged. “Well, it’s not like I can make exceptions. If word leaks out, then people start saying that the Dread Highwayman Caffrey has gone soft and then what’ll I do? It’ll be work, work, work, and I’ll probably have to slaughter whole villages just to regain their respect. And that’s _so_ time consuming.”

“You scoundrel, you mock my pain!” Elizabeth cried, shocked.

“Life. Is. Pain!” Caffrey shouted, leaning over her menacingly. Seeing her cowering, he drew back and lowered his voice. “Anyone who says differently is selling something.” He turned and stepped away, began pacing in a tight circle. “But I think I remember this stable boy of yours. Maybe. This would be what – four or five years ago?”

Elizabeth’s eyes filled with tears as he mentioned Neal. 

“Does it bother you to hear?”

She turned her head but said nothing. 

“He died well,” Caffrey continued. “That should please you. No attempts at bribery or blubbering like a babe like most do. He simply said, ‘Please...please, I need to live.’ It was the ‘please’ that I remember. I asked him what was so important to him. ‘True Love,’ he replied. That’s what caught my attention. Then he spoke of a girl of great beauty and fidelity – I can only assume he meant you.” He stopped his pacing and looked down on her. “You know, you should bless me for putting him out of his misery before he found out what you really are.”

Elizabeth surged to her feet and stepped up to him, face livid with anger. “And what am I?” she spat in his face.

He leaned forward, blue eyes cold on hers, and his words spilled out in a rush, hard, punishing. “Faithfulness he talked of, madam, your enduring faithfulness. Now tell me, when you found out he’d died, did you get engaged to your prince that same hour, or did you wait a whole week out of respect for the dead?”

Elizabeth saw red and could not suppress the shaking in her entire body. “You mocked me once,” she warned, her own voice low and dangerous. “Everything I was and everything I would ever be died that day! And you can die too for all I care!” 

Then, without thinking what it meant or what she was doing, she pushed him, hard, with both her hands, and he went over the edge and into the gully below. As he fell, his voice carried up to her ears, “AS… YOOOUUU… WIIIIIISH!!!”

The words hit her like a lightning bolt – words she had not heard in half a decade, words that had so much meaning to her, and she realized, beyond reason or hope or sense, that the man she’d taken for the Dread Highwayman Caffrey was, in fact, her dearest love. 

“Oh, Neal, sweetie! What have I done?” she said, and ran headlong down the steep slope before her.

Of course, she soon regretted her actions, for the slope was even steeper than she’d expected. Almost immediately, she tripped, and rolled painfully down several hundred yards before the angle evened out and she slid to a stop. She lay there, blinking up at the sky, with the wind knocked out of her, and a little in shock.

Moments later, however, a shadow passed over her that she realized belonged to her beloved Neal. 

“My darling, are you all right? Can you move?”

“Move?” she asked, overjoyed and feeling no pain from her long fall. “If you want, I can fly!” she threw her arms around his neck and he leaned in and kissed her, sliding his arms around her waist. 

After several minutes, they separated, and he leaned over her on his elbows, pushing the hair away from her face. He had at some point lost his mask, and she could finally see his face properly. His hair was longer than it had ever been, and he had it tied back with a leather cord at the nape of his neck. His face was leaner, and he had what looked like a three-day growth of beard on his jaw. But his eyes – his eyes she could see were those of her beloved Neal, as wide and as vast as the sky, and he looked down on her with such love and affection that she thought if she died at that very moment, she would be perfectly, transcendently happy. 

“I told you I would always come for you. Why didn’t you wait?”

She could feel her cheeks color, but the answer was obvious. “Well, you were dead…”

“Death cannot stop True Love, Elizabeth. All it can do is delay it for a while.”

“I will never doubt again.”

“You will never need to,” he said and kissed her again.

Before long, their location and the lateness of the day necessitated that they move on. They ran hand-in-hand along the floor of the deep gully, but soon the distant sound of hoof beats descended to their ears.

“Oh no, it is Prince Adler,” Elizabeth fretted. “I knew there would be no stopping him. He gets so obsessed when he wants something – it’s so creepy!”

“Don’t worry, my darling, we will soon be safely in the Fire Swamp.”

Elizabeth stopped then, pulling at his hand. “We’ll never survive, Neal!”

“Come now, you’re only saying that because no one ever has.”

Located at the center of the Jardinian wasteland inexplicably named “The Meadowlands,” the Fire Swamp was a dark and mysterious place filled with terrors known and unknown. Located as it was at the extreme East of the populated parts of Jardin, it provided a natural defense against invasion from that direction. Its horrors approached the level of myth, to the point that Manhattanite parents used it to keep their children in line; “You’d best behave, my darlings, or they’ll find you buried in the Meadowlands,” was a frequent threat.

Neal and Elizabeth were not 100 yards inside the Fire Swamp before there was a strange, hollow thumping sound that seemed to be coming from beneath the ground. Its cause was unknown, but it made the very ground shudder. Suddenly, a flame spurt appeared at Elizabeth’s feet. She leapt back, but was too late as the hem of her gown had caught fire. Panicked, she fell to the ground, leaning forward to try to bat at the flames. Luckily, Neal thought quickly and, using his gloved hands and the remaining fabric of her garment, he quickly snuffed it out. 

Elizabeth sat with her eyes wide, breathing heavily in shock. 

“Well, that was exciting,” Neal said lightly, standing and offering her a hand to help her to her feet. “Singed a bit, were you?”

She caught onto his mood and, determined to make the best of the situation, shook her head. “Meh – I’m good. You?”

Neal shrugged. “One thing I will say, the Fire Swamp keeps you on your toes!”

They walked on, carefully picking their way through the swamp. Luckily, they encountered few flame spurts, but the ones they did were now easily recognized. 

Eventually, something that was puzzling Elizabeth finally found a voice as they walked. “Tell me, my darling, how it is that you are the Dread Highwayman Caffrey, when he has been plaguing the countryside for nearly two decades?” 

Neal thought a minute and then slipped his arm around her waist as they strolled along. “Ah, yes, I myself am often surprised at the way my life has turned out. What I told you earlier about saying ‘please’ was true. My story intrigued Caffrey, as did my descriptions of your beauty. That day, he looked down on me and said, ‘All right Neal, I've never had a valet, so you can try it if you'd like. I'll most likely kill you in the morning.’ For three years he said that: ‘Good night, Neal. Good work, sleep well. I'll most likely kill you in the morning.’ It was a great time for me. I was learning to fence, fight, pick pockets, forge paintings, anything anyone would teach me. Caffrey and I eventually became friends. And then it happened.”

“What?”

“The most extraordinary thing. Caffrey had grown so rich, he wanted to retire. So he took me aside, and told me his secret.” Neal stopped walking then, and Elizabeth caught the light in his eyes as he recounted his amazing story. “’I am not the Dread Highwayman Caffrey,’ he said. ‘My name is Hale. I inherited the job from the previous Dread Highwayman Caffrey, just as you will inherit it from me. The man I inherited it from was not the real Dread Highwayman Caffrey either. His name was Ford. Turns out the real Caffrey has been retired fifteen years and lives like a king down in Miami. 

“He went on to explain that the name was the important thing for inspiring the necessary fear. You see, no one would surrender to the Dread Highwayman Neal. So we pulled into a town, hired an entirely new gang, and he stayed with me as my lieutenant, all the time calling me Caffrey. Once the gang believed, he left, and I have been Caffrey ever since. Except now that we're back together, I will retire and hand the name over to someone else. Make sense?”

Elizabeth nodded, but her head was still swimming – his tale would take some processing. She turned to continue on their way, took one step and felt the ground disappear beneath her feet.

Lightning sand! It was the second-best documented danger of the Fire Swamp, and she had stumbled into it. Luckily, she managed to close both her eyes and her mouth as she descended into the stuff, which seemed to be composed of silica so fine it was nearly a powder. She could feel it invading everything – her nostrils, her ears, her boots, every fold of exposed skin. Her panic ratcheted up as she realized how insidious it was – surely it would suffocate her, and still she seemed to be sinking further downward. She said a silent prayer that Neal would not fall prey to it, and hoped that her death would be merciful and swift.

But seconds later, she felt a strong hand grip her by the wrist. She struggled against opening her eyes, even as she twisted her hand around and grasped on to Neal's forearm. He pulled her closer to him, and she fumbled towards him with her other arm, basically crawling along his body upward and toward safety. Soon, she felt his arm around her waist again and he tugged and pulled her out of the sand. And it was a near thing, for she was nearly out of breath.

They lay on the ground beside the pit of sand, coughing and gagging against the fine powder that had invaded their noses and mouths. Elizabeth curled against Neal and let her fear and hopelessness overtake her, grasping desperately at his shirt and burying her face there. “We’ll never make it out of here,” she coughed. “We might as well die here.”

Neal sat up and pulled her to him, held her tight and planted tiny kisses along her hairline. When her trembling had ceased, he pulled her to her feet and placed his hands on her shoulders. “Nonsense, we have already succeeded,” he said, looking deeply into her eyes, and she knew he was trying to keep her calm. “Think about it – what are the three terrors of the fire swamp? One: the flame spurt. No problem. There's a popping sound whenever one happens, and we can avoid that. Two: the lightning sand, but you were clever enough to discover what that looks like, so in the future we can avoid that too!”

“But Neal, what about the R.O.U.S.'s?”

“Rodents of Unusual Size?” Neal scoffed, waving a hand dismissively. “I don’t think they exist!”

The words were barely out of his mouth before an enormous, man-sized rat leapt from out of nowhere, tackling Neal to the ground.

“Neal!” Elizabeth screamed as he tried to disengage the thing, punching it in the head desperately and kicking at its sides. Elizabeth scanned the area looking for a tree branch, a rock – anything that she might use as a weapon against it. She found an old, dried out branch nearby, about three feet long and as thick as her wrist. Rushing back to Neal's side, she hauled off and whacked the R.O.U.S. in the head with it.

Squealing in pain, the man-sized rat leapt from its position on top of Neal and turned on her, moving more quickly than she would have thought possible. She kept hitting it with the branch as she backed away, but she soon tripped over a gnarled old tree root and landed on her back, hard. She lay dazed for a second – but only for a second, for the R.O.U.S. was now on top of her, its slavering jaws grabbing onto her boot and holding her fast. She screamed, poking at the thing’s head with the end of the branch, but it would not be deterred.

Suddenly, Neal was there, tackling the creature off of her. The two of them rolled over and over, and when they stopped, the R.O.U.S. was straddling Neal. It reared its ugly head back and then sank its yellow teeth into the soft flesh of his shoulder. Neal cried out in anger and pain, but his cries were nearly drowned out by the popping and the rumbling of an impending fire spurt. Elizabeth leapt out of the way as Neal rolled over with the R.O.U.S., twice. When he came to a stop, he flung the creature onto the very spot where the fire spurt emerged. The R.O.U.S. screamed in agony, and Elizabeth was overcome with the urge to vomit as the smell of burnt rat flesh and fur reached her nostrils. Neal struggled away from the thing, and got to his feet. The R.O.U.S. was writhing in agony on the ground, its cries desperate and pained. Neal, demonstrating the mercy that Elizabeth had always known in him, unsheathed his sword and advanced on the animal, dispatching it with one, sure thrust to the heart.

He stood there, panting, blood streaming out of the bite at his shoulder, and then looked up at Elizabeth. His face was streaked with grime, blood, and sweat, but he was alive and he was here, and he was hers. She stumbled over to him and caught him as he fell to his knees. It was her turn to comfort him and she held his head to her chest and soothed him until the sun began to set and it was time for them to go.

\----


	6. Part the Sixth: In which our Hero dies

The sun was falling just below the horizon when Neal and Elizabeth limped out of the far side of the Fire Swamp, their arms about each other. Neal was no longer sure who exactly was supporting whom, and he no longer cared. To have his beloved Elizabeth in his arms again was worth all of his trials, rodent-related or not. 

The cry of a horse interrupted his reverie and when he looked up, he realized they were surrounded by soldiers – Manhattanites by the look of their uniforms. Easing himself in front of Elizabeth protectively, he put his right hand on his scabbard, wincing when the movement pulled at his torn shoulder.

A man rode to the front of the group of soldiers, and Neal took in his rich clothes and expensive tack. He was handsome enough – princely – with a high forehead and good bone structure. But his eyes – they slanted to the side when Neal looked into them and Neal knew he was not a man to be trusted: a coward. “Surrender!” he ordered.

Neal smiled dangerously. “You mean you want to surrender to me? Very well, I accept.”

“I suppose I’d give you high marks for bravery,” Prince Adler said, a bored affect to his voice that made Neal itch to slap him silly. “But don’t be a fool.”

“How will you catch us?” Neal asked. “We know all the secrets of the Fire Swamp. We can just go back inside and live there for quite some time, and happily!”

“I tell you again, surrender!” Adler said, tossing his hair dramatically and watching for the reaction of his men.

Neal was getting angry. “I tell you it will not happen.”

“For the last time, surrender!”

“Death first!” Neal shouted.

“Will you promise not to hurt him, my Prince?” Elizabeth said suddenly.

“What was that?” Neal and Adler said to her simultaneously.

Elizabeth had stepped out from behind Neal and now stood slightly in front of him. She did not look at him as she addressed Adler. “If we surrender, and I return to Manhattan, will you promise not to hurt this man?”

Adler placed his hand over his heart and replied, “May I live one thousand years and never hunt again.” Some of his men towards the back began to applaud, much to Neal's disgust.

“He is a simple merchant. Return him to his caravan and leave him in peace,” Elizabeth said.

“I swear it will be done.”

Neal looked down at Elizabeth, took her arm and looked at her questioningly. 

“I thought you were dead once and it almost destroyed me, Neal. I couldn’t bear it if you died again, not when I could save you.”

“My darling,” he began, but she stepped away. She didn’t take her eyes from him, but she held her arms out and, as Adler rode past her, he lifted her onto his horse and rode away with her.

Neal was suddenly aware that he was completely surrounded, and realized as well that surely this was the reason for Elizabeth’s change of heart. He loved her all the more for it and for her sacrifice. He glanced to the side as a man rode over to him. He too was dressed like a nobleman, in silk and velvet, affecting the bored manner of a rich and spoiled man. “Will you come with me? We must return you to your caravan,” he said, his voice low and menacing.

Neal peered up at him in the failing light, and sighed. There was no way the man meant to fulfill the Prince’s promise to Elizabeth. “Come now, we are men of action,” Neal said wearily. “Lies do not become us.”

The nobleman smiled a crooked smile, and Neal noticed for the first time the cruel look in his eyes. And then he noticed something else.

“What is it?” the noble asked.

“I just noticed that you have six fingers on your right hand. Someone was looking for you.”

Neal didn’t have a chance to make another remark, for one of the soldiers came up behind him and knocked him out cold.

\----

When he woke again, there was a throbbing pain in his head to match the one in his shoulder. Then Neal realized he could not move. He opened his eyes and saw that he was lying shirtless on a raised platform or table, in some dark, dank dungeon. Nearby, there was a strange machine, comprised of a water wheel, levers, and strange pumps. He peered at it for several seconds but could not divine what it might be for. His thoughts were interrupted by the appearance of a shockingly ugly albino, with ill-formed features and bushy eyebrows, who was currently standing over him with a tray.

“Gah!” Neal exclaimed. “Wh-where am I?”

“The Pit. Of Despaaaaairrrr!” the albino croaked dramatically, but he coughed and gagged and wheezed until Neal felt bad for him and wished he could offer him a glass of water. He had tears streaming down his face by the time he’d caught his breath and set the tray down beside Neal. “Don’t even think of trying to escape – the chains are far too thick,” he informed Neal and then took up a cloth soaked in clear water and began to clean Neal's wound. “And don’t dream of being rescued, either,” the albino continued. “The only entrance is secret, and only the prince, the count, and I know how to get in or out.”

Neal froze. “Then I’m here until I die?”

“Or until they kill you.”

“Then why bother treating my wounds?”

“Well, for some reason they insist on everyone being healthy before they’re broken. Something to do with baseline measurements.”

Neal furrowed his brow. “So it’s to be torture then? That I can cope with.”

The albino shook his head, a gleam of amusement in his eyes. 

“You don’t believe me?” Neal asked.

The albino shrugged. “You survived the Fire Swamp, so you must be very brave, but no one withstands The Machine.” He nodded at the contraption Neal had been eyeing earlier, and Neal began to wonder if it wasn’t time to become concerned.

\----

_Ten days later_

After a short illness, Old King Byron, the wise king of Manhattan, died, leaving Adler to fill the power vacuum as his one and only heir. It therefore became necessary for him and Elizabeth to marry immediately, in order to ensure there would be heirs and peace in the kingdom. 

At noon following her coronation, King Adler presented her to the people as their new Queen. Elizabeth took Adler’s hand as he stood on the balcony overlooking the square, a shell-shocked expression on her face. 

“My father's final words were: Love her as I loved her and there will be joy,’" Adler said by way of introduction. “I therefore present to you your new queen, Queen Elizabeth!”

Elizabeth looked down on the upturned faces of her now-subjects with a queasy look on her face as they erupted in cheers. But at the center of the crowd, a dissonance began that gradually drowned out the adulation. 

“Boo!” came a single voice. “Boo! Boo!”

Elizabeth cast about, looking for the culprit. She got what she wanted as the crowd began to part for an old woman dressed in the rags of mourning, who was walking forward to stand just beneath the balcony.

“Boo!”

“Wh-why do you deride me so?” Elizabeth asked, confused.

“Because you had True Love in your grasp and you gave it up!” was the reply.

“But they would have killed Neal if I hadn’t done it!”

The old woman spat on the ground. “Your love lives, and yet you marry another.” She turned to the assembled crowd to make her case, raising her arms and gesturing to illustrateher points. “True Love saved her in the Fire Swamp, and she treated it like garbage. And that's what she is, the queen of refuse. So bow down to her if you want, bow to her. Bow to the queen of slime, the queen of filth, the queen of putrescence. Boo! Boo! Boo!”

Soon the entire crowd had joined in and was jeering at Elizabeth, their faces a mixture of disgust and pity. Elizabeth retreated back into the Palace and ran down the long hallways, but she could not escape the jeers and the derision. Or the guilt.

\----

Elizabeth woke with a gasp to find herself safely in her bed chamber, the old crone’s words ringing in her ears. It was ten days until the wedding, and King Byron still lived, but her nightmares were getting worse. She dressed quickly and went to see Prince Adler at her earliest opportunity.

She found him in conference with Count Keller, who had his hand on the Prince’s arm as he spoke to him in a low voice. Elizabeth noticed Keller was rubbing his thumb along the soft skin on the inside of the Prince’s wrist, but thought nothing of it – the two had been friends since their University days.

“Yes, my darling?” Adler said, snatching his hand away. He rose and came to greet her, resting his hands gently on her shoulders and smiling at her pleasantly. 

Elizabeth gazed into his eyes earnestly and took a deep breath. “I must tell you: I love Neal. I always have, and I know I always will. If you tell me I must marry you in ten days, please believe I will be dead by morning.”

Adler stiffened and he dropped his hands. “I could never cause you grief, my love,” he said. “The wedding’s off.” He turned to Keller. “You returned this Neal to his, er, party?”

“Of course, my lord,” Keller said, rubbing at the palm of his hand with a thumb. Elizabeth carefully averted her eyes – his six-fingered hand creeped her out.

Adler nodded, satisfied. “Then we will simply try to find him. Princess, are you certain he still wants you? After all, it was you who left him in the Fire Swamp. Not to mention that highwaymen are not known to be men of their words.”

“Neal will always come for me,” Elizabeth said with certainty.

“Then I suggest an arrangement. You write four copies of a letter to your love summoning him here. I'll send my four best and fastest horsemen from my personal guard, one in each direction. The Dread Highwayman Caffrey or his men are bound to be somewhere hereabouts. The horsemen will travel under a white flag and deliver your message. If Neal wants you, he can come for you and no harm will come to either of you.” He took her hand and kissed it, patted it. “If not, please consider me as an alternative to suicide. What do you say?”

Relieved to be able to do something, Elizabeth nodded and left his office.

“Your princess is a charming creature,” Keller observed. “Not _my_ type, of course, but I can see the appeal.”

Adler turned and looked at him disapprovingly. “Don’t pout. But you know, the people are quite taken with her.” He sat on the edge of his desk. “You know, when I hired Taylor to have her murdered, I thought that was clever. But it's going to be so much more moving when I strangle her on our wedding night! Once Jardin is blamed, the nation will truly be outraged. They'll demand we go to war!”

Keller caressed Adler’s cheek with the back of a finger. “And we will soundly defeat the Jardinians, leaving you as ruler of the Two Kingdoms!”

Adler’s eyes flashed as he took Keller’s hand in his. Letting out a growl, he pulled him closer. “With you at my side at last!” he said, and kissed him.

Later that afternoon, the two men arrived in a clearing in the forest outside the Palace. Keller strode up to a very large, gnarled old oak tree and twisted at a knot in the tree, which released a catch somewhere inside it. A door was revealed in the side of the hollowed-out oak and he took a step towards it. He turned back to Adler, who remained behind. “Are you coming? Neal's got almost all of his strength back, so I’m starting him on the Machine this afternoon.”

Adler had a thoughtful look on his face. “Matthew, you know how I love to watch you in action, but I’ve got my wedding to plan, my wife to murder, and an innocent neighboring kingdom to frame for it. Also, I’ve got Zoomba this afternoon. I’m swamped!”

Keller smiled indulgently at him. “You should rest. I mean, if you haven’t got your health, what have you got?”

\----

Neal stared up at the ceiling of the great dungeon where he’d been imprisoned for the last six weeks. He’d spent most of the time locked in a cell in the corner, and the albino – whose name was Kramer – had tended to him well enough, ensuring he was fed and kept clean, and that his rat bite did not fester. The injury still ached occasionally, but he almost had full movement in the shoulder now. His plan was to find something to pick the locks on the heavy shackles around his wrists, ankles and neck, overpower old Kramer, find his way out of the Pit and rescue Elizabeth. 

But for now he was strapped to the same table he’d been on when he found himself here, wearing nothing but his underbreeches, wide leather straps binding his legs, waist, chest. The straps had strange suction cups anchored to them that were in direct contact with Neal's bare skin. Kramer had also fastened a strange harness around his head that kept him completely immobilized. He heard footsteps, suddenly, but was unable to move his head to see who the newcomer was.

“Ah, I see you’ve already prepared him for me, Kramer – good man.”

Neal's eyes flicked over to the man who’d just joined them. It was the man from the Fire Swamp, Adler’s toady, who Neal surmised was Count Keller – it wasn’t as if they’d been introduced the one time they’d met, but the albino had spoken of him almost reverently. The man had yet to make an appearance in the weeks of Neal's captivity, and Neal knew enough to be wary of a man who apparently made torture a pastime, but he felt no fear.

Until he saw him.

Keller stood over him and regarded Neal with what Neal could only term glee. His dark eyes positively glittered in his face and the man practically vibrated from excitement. If he didn’t know what they were both there for, Neal would have compared him to a child on Christmas morning.

Except Neal did know what they were there for, and he eyed the Machine warily now, his heart beginning to hammer in his chest. 

Keller noticed Neal's eyes taking in the Machine. “Beautiful, isn't it?” he said, his voice a low rasp. “It took me half a lifetime to build it. I'm sure you've heard of my deep and abiding interest in pain. At the moment, I'm writing the definitive work on the subject, so I want you to be totally honest with me on how The Machine makes you feel. This being our first try, I'll use the lowest setting.”

Keller moved a lever from zero to one and Neal could hear water start to flow over the catches on the water wheel, bringing the Machine to life. There was a brief vibration, more like a hum, and Neal was suddenly hit with the most excruciating pain he had ever experienced in his life. In the time he was in training and served as Caffrey’s valet, he’d had his share of injuries – had suffered broken bones, stabbings, concussions – but none of them could have prepared him for this. It was as if every muscle in his body had been detached, turned inside out and then lashed back together over his skeleton.

Keller was talking, his voice an incessant murmur in Neal's ear. “In case you care, Caffrey, the Machine is like a suction pump, except that instead of sucking water, I'm sucking life.” He stopped the machine and hovered over Neal, a bit of parchment and a pencil in his hands. “I've just sucked a year of your life away. I might one day go as high as five, but I really don't know what that would do to you, so let's just start here. 

“Please, tell me, what did this do to you? And remember, this is for science, so be honest. How do you feel?”

Neal could only weep.

“Interesting.”

\----

Five days later, Prince Adler called the captain of the Palace guards to his office for a conference. “Fowler!” he said as the man stood uncertainly in the doorway.

Fowler jumped as if caught at something and rushed into the office, bowing at the waist the entire time. “Sire.”

“Something has come to my attention, and as chief enforcer of the land, I feel I can only entrust you with the information.” Fowler went down on a knee and regarded Adler gravely. “Assassins from Jardin have infiltrated the Thieves’ Forest and intend to murder the Princess Elizabeth on our wedding night.”

Fowler’s eyes widened and his face went pale. “Sire, my spy network has reported nothing –“

At that moment, the Princess herself passed by the doorway and leaned her head inside. “Any word from Neal?” she asked, as she had twice daily since her letters were written.

Both men surged to their feet. “Too soon, my angel,” Adler simpered.

“He will come for me.”

“Of course.” 

With a toss of her hair, Elizabeth headed back towards her rooms. Adler grabbed Fowler’s lapel and pulled him forward. “She will not be harmed!” He instructed Fowler to form a Brute Squad to keep the vicinity clear of any threat to the Princess’ safety. “I want that forest emptied by the time of our wedding!”

\----

The day of the wedding dawned bright and clear, and Fowler oversaw all the security arrangements himself. He stood at the edge of the Thieves’ Forest awaiting a report from his Chief Brute. “Report!” he ordered the man. 

“We’ve got almost everybody out, all except one guy who’s giving us trouble. Claims to be an ex-sheriff or something, but he’s drunk as a skunk and armed, so no one’s been able to get near him.” 

“Well, then, send a bigger Brute!” Fowler yelled, pushing the man back the way he’d come.

\----

Peter sat on the ground just outside the Thieves’ Forest Bennigan’s, leaning against the doorway with a bottle of brandy perched on his leg. “I am waiting for you, Taylor!” he called to no one, for the Forest was empty and there was no one to hear his drunken ramblings. “You shaid go back to the beginning, sho thish ish the beginning. _hic_ ”

The Chief Brute approached. “Ho there!” he shouted.

“Ho? Where?” Peter asked, looking all around for a wench.

The Chief brute strode up to him and Peter picked up the sword that had been sitting on the ground along his leg; despite his inebriation, the sword was pointed steadily at the hapless man. 

“The Prince gave orders,” he informed Peter.

“Sho did Taylor. He shaid if the job went wrong, I should go back to the beginning. Thish is where we got the job, sho thish ish the beginning! I move. For no one. But Taylor.”

The Chief Brute was weighing his chances of getting away with leaving him there when a shadow off in the distance caught his attention. “You there! Brute!” he called, trotting up to the man who approached.

Peter felt a shadow fall over him, blotting out the sun. He tilted his head back and back until his drunken eyes finally alighted on the face at the top of the mountain of a man that stood over him.

“Toodle-oo,” Jones said, waving with his fingers and smiling widely.

“It’s you!” Peter said, marveling, his head lolling on his shoulders.

“You don’t look so good,” Jones told him.

“I don’t feel so good.”

Jones grabbed the collar of Peter’s coat and lifted him into the air with a single, great heave, then set him down on his feet. 

Peter stumbled and fell against his friend’s chest, catching himself on Jones’ shirt and using it to climb up into a standing position. He tilted his head back again and smiled widely at Jones. “I’ve missed you, buddy.”

“Me too. Come on, let’s get you cleaned up, I have news.”

Jones dragged Peter into the deserted Bennigan’s and sat him at a table, then force fed him cold, congealed potato skins until he was forced to vomit. 

“Oh my God, what are you doing to me?” Peter wailed as he dry heaved into a basin for the second time.

“Better out than in. Are you sober?”

“As a clergyman.”

“OK, because I have learned of the whereabouts of the six-fingered man.”

Peter surged to his feet and promptly passed out.

Three hours later, when he’d awakened and Jones fed him a strange, healing concoction of his own devising that consisted of fire-charred meat and cheese laid between slices of coarse bread, Peter rose and regarded his friend with eyes that were steely with intent. “Tell me where this Keller is so I can kill him.”

“Hold on, it’s not that easy. He’s with the prince in the Palace. And the Palace gate is this day guarded by thirty men.”

“Thirty? I don’t think I can handle more than ten, fifteen tops. How about you?”

Jones shrugged. “Maybe a dozen.”

Peter ran his hands through his hair and moaned with frustration. “We’ll never get inside. I need Taylor – he was the one who was the strategic thinker.”

“He’s dead,” Jones pointed out.

Peter slapped himself on the knee and then pointed at Jones. “No, not Taylor! I need the Man in Black.”

“What?”

“Don’t you see? He bested you with strength, and me with steel. And if Taylor is dead, it means he outwitted him. We need the Man in Black!”

“But we don’t know where to find him.”

“Don’t distract me with facts! After ten long years, Diana’s soul will at last be at peace. Mark my words, Jones, my sword will taste blood tonight!”

\----

Fowler stood hesitantly in the Prince’s doorway. “Come,” the Prince ordered, and Fowler bowed his way inside. 

“Report!”

“The Thieves’ Forest is emptied, and thirty men guard the Palace gates. Your Princess is safe.”

“Thirty? Double it,” the Prince said in a tone that brooked no argument.

Fowler was stammering a reply when Elizabeth once again poked her head into Adler’s office. Adler ignored him to address the Princess. “Ah, my dear you look stunning. Tonight, we marry. And tomorrow morning all of my personal honor guard will ride to escort us to the harbor where our honeymoon cruise will disembark.”

“All your guards but your four fastest riders,” Elizabeth corrected him.

“Y-yes, of course,” Adler stammered. “Not those four, naturally.”

Elizabeth advanced on him, her blue eyes flashing angrily as she realized the extent of his betrayal. “You never sent your men, did you? Don’t bother lying, I see it in your face. It doesn’t matter – Neal will come for me anyway.”

“You are a foolish girl,” he told her, disgusted.

“Yes, I suppose I am, for not seeing before that you are nothing but a coward.”

Fowler gasped at her impudence, but Adler ignored him. “I wouldn’t say such things if I were you,” he said through clenched teeth.

“And why not?” she said, her voice rising and her cheeks coloring in her anger. “You can't hurt me. Neal and I are joined by bonds of love that you cannot track, not with a thousand dogs. And you cannot break it, not with a thousand swords. And when I say you are a coward, that is only because you are the slimiest worm ever to crawl on its belly in the dust. I loathe you.”

Adler leapt forward then and took her by the wrist, his grip so tight she gasped. “I would not say such things if I were you,” he repeated. She struggled against him, but his size gave him better leverage. He dragged her out of his rooms and down the hall to her own. “I would not say such things if I were you,” he said these words, again and again, as he dragged her away, finally shoving her through her door and to the floor inside, and locking her in until the time of their wedding later that night.

He turned away from the door and it was as if everything he saw was stained with red, his brain still seething with anger and hatred for Elizabeth and Neal. How dare she? How dare she and her True Love flout his will and deny him? How dare they stand in his way? What made them think they were so special?

Adler suddenly realized how he might wipe the smug expression of superiority he saw on Elizabeth’s face every time she looked at him – he knew how to take care of her, how to take care of them both. Ignoring his self-imposed extra security measures – they were a lie anyway – he strode out of the Palace alone, through the great forest that lay beyond, until he reached the clearing with the large, hollow oak. He practically flew down the stairs into the Pit and ran up to Neal, who had once again been strapped into the Machine. Keller was painstakingly analyzing some bit of data, but Adler ignored him.

“You!” he seethed, sliding to a stop beside Neal where he lay. He leaned over him as he spoke, his voice trembling with anger and contempt. “You truly love each other, and you might have been truly happy. Not one couple in a century has that chance, no matter what the fairy tales say. So I think no man in a century will suffer as greatly as you will.”

Neal's eyes widened as he understood Adler’s intent. Adler rushed over to the control lever on the Machine and pulled it all the way down, where it locked in with a wholly satisfying click.

“Not up to 50!” Keller shouted. 

But it was too late. The Machine sparked to life, groaning as it worked at a rate never attempted before, shuddering as it sucked every ounce of life out of Neal, who wailed and screamed until he had nothing left.

Neal was dead.

\----


	7. Part the Last: In which True Love prevails… and all the best lines are uttered.

Peter and Jones were walking at the edge of the Thieves’ Forest, very near the Palace grounds, when they heard a sound that made the birds leave the trees in a panic and all of the woodland creatures flee to their nests and burrows. Peter stopped walking and grabbed Jones’ sleeve, nearly staggering under the weight of that sound. It was a wail of pain and anguish so dark and profound it left tears in Peter’s eyes.

“Jones, do you hear that?” Peter said, his voice gruff. “That is the sound of ultimate suffering. It is the sound my heart made when Keller slaughtered my Diana. The Man in Black makes it now.”

“The Man in Black?”

“His Love marries another tonight – who else has a cause for ultimate suffering?”

Jones shrugged – there was no arguing with Peter’s logic. They followed the sound to what they concluded must be its source, but found themselves standing in a clearing in the forest with no sign of anyone or anything. Except… for a strange albino who seemed to have come from nowhere, pushing a wheelbarrow. 

“You there! Where is the Man in Black?” Peter demanded, affecting his best lawman’s demeanor. It seemed to work, for the albino’s face looked fearful, but that might also have been the roughly 7 feet of giant standing at Peter’s side. Still, the albino wasn’t talking. “Hey Jones, jog his memory.”

Jones made a massive fist and brought it down on the albino’s head; he fell to the ground, unconscious. “Snap, I didn’t mean to jog him so hard. Sorry, Peter.”

Peter drew his sword and got down on one knee. He rested the point of his weapon into the ground and lay his hands on the hilt, closed his eyes and began to pray. “Diana, I loved you like a daughter, and I have sworn my life to avenging your murder. Somewhere close by is a man who can help me, but I cannot find him alone. I need you to guide me – to guide my sword. Please, Diana, please. Please…” Peter kept his eyes closed but was drawn to his feet by an unknowable force. It seemed as if a large hand were guiding the weapon through the clearing, and he did not fight it. At last, the point stuck into the wood of a gnarled old oak at one end. Peter opened his eyes and looked at the thing. 

“What is this? I don’t understand… I thought it was working.” He leaned against the tree, dejected, resting his head against his forearm with despair. From somewhere inside the tree, he heard a faint click, and a door opened up in the side. “Jones!” Peter breathed, his eyes goggling. Jones followed him down the long stairs that revealed themselves within.

At the bottom of the stairs was what appeared to be a vast dungeon, given over to all manner of unspeakable torture. Peter averted his eyes from some of the more horrific instruments, but he was of course drawn to the Machine that dominated the center of the room. And beside it was the man he sought, the Man in Black. 

He lay on a table, strange bands of leather binding him to it, but he was pale and unmoving. Peter reached out a trembling hand and felt for a pulse at his neck, but there was none. He sighed, running his fingers over the young man’s jaw, his proud brow. So handsome, he was, so noble and brave. To meet such an end… it hurt Peter’s heart to even think of the Man or his Love hurt or harmed in any way – strange feelings, to be sure, in a man devoted to the Vengeance business. He’d only been with the couple briefly, and their contact had been contentious – he was the Princess’ kidnapper after all, and the Man in Black defeated him in battle. But still, in the intervening weeks, as he pieced together their story – he was still a good investigator – he couldn’t help but be affected by the magic that was their love, their bond, their devotion to each other. And to want a piece of it for himself.

Peter shook his head – such thoughts were unwelcome and largely irrelevant now. “He’s dead. The Man in Black is dead,” he pronounced.

Jones laid a great, sympathetic hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Peter. I know how much this means to you.”

Peter closed his eyes and bowed his head, his hand lingering on the Man’s shoulder. But then something occurred to him. “Wait, I’ve got an idea!” He began to unbuckle the straps around Neal’s body. “Jones, help me.” When they’d gotten him disentangled from the table, he said. “I’ll grab his clothes, you bring the body, we must hurry.”

“The body? Hurry? Where are we going?”

“You have any money?”

“I’ve always got cash, Peter.”

“Good. Here’s hoping it’s enough to buy a miracle!”

\----

Peter and Jones arrived at the ramshackle hut that was the dwelling of Miracle Moz, Ph.D., who had served Old King Byron for many years. His reputation for pulling off the impossible was widely known, and if there was anyone who could help Peter find a way into the Palace, it was him.

Peter banged urgently on the door, and heard shuffling feet approach from inside. A small door where a peephole might have been opened up from the inside, and Peter found himself looking down on a bald old man, blinking up at him through thick spectacles. 

“What, what?” Miracle Moz demanded. 

“Are you Miracle Moz, who worked for the king all those years?” Peter asked.

A look of pain crossed the old man’s features and his eyes narrowed. “I was until the king’s nogoodnik son fired me. And thank you for bringing up such a painful subject, by the way! Why not just poke me in the eye with a pointed stick? We’re closed!” With that, he slammed the little door shut.

Peter would not be deterred, and banged on the door again. 

“Cut it out or I’ll call the Brute Squad!” Moz threatened.

“I’m on the Brute Squad,” Jones said.

Moz looked him up and down, his jaw dropping open. “You are the Brute Squad.”

“Please, we need a miracle, it’s vitally important,” Peter said.

Moz looked at him with contempt and suspicion. “I’m retired. And besides, why would you want someone the king’s stinking son fired? I might kill whoever you want me to miracle.”

“He’s already dead.”

Moz raised both eyebrows, his professional curiosity piqued. “You don’t say? Bring him in.” He closed the tiny door and at last, opened the real door. Peter was surprised to see he was even shorter than he’d appeared through the door – he must have been standing on a stool to speak with them. He danced from foot to foot, though, and gestured for them to come inside.

Jones laid Neal onto a nearby workbench, and Miracle Moz began to examine him closely, poking, prodding, using strange and delicate instruments on him. 

At last, the waiting was too much, and Peter had to say something. “Sir? Please, we’re in a bit of a rush, so…”

“Don’t rush me, Brute. You rush me, you get terrible miracles. You got any cash?”

“Jones, pay the man.”

“A hundred enough?”

“A hundred? I’ve never worked for so little! Your cause had better be a noble one.”

“He is going to help me avenge the death of my closest friend, murdered by a treacherous and sadistic monster.”

Miracle Moz looked up at him blandly, ignoring Peter’s emotional plea. “He owes you money, doesn’t he? Well, why don’t I just ask him.”

“Ask him? He’s dead.”

“Oh ho,” Moz said, peering up at him. “Shows what you know. Your friend here is only _mostly dead._ ” He jumped off the stool he’d used to examine Neal and went over to the hearth, returning with a small bellows. “There’s a big difference between mostly dead and all-the-way-dead. Just ask Sir Elvis – he’ll tell you.”

“Sir Elvis Presley has been dead for twenty years,” Jones felt it important to point out.

“That’s only what they want you to think, Brute. The real story is a lot more complicated, involving black ops, crop circles, and New Coke. You really should subscribe to my newsletter, _The Grassy Knoll._ I’ve exposed things that’ll turn you white.” He looked Jones up and down and thought better of his last comment as he hopped back up on his stool . “Or, you know, paler. Anyway, help me – open his mouth.”

Peter obliged and Moz inserted the end of the bellows into Neal’s mouth. He then gently puffed air into the man, until his belly and chest became alarmingly distended. Moz removed the bellows and then hunkered down near Neal’s slack face. “Hey, handsome!” he yelled into his ear. “Hello! You in there? Tell me, what’s so important? What have you got that’s worth living for?” Moz leaned over Neal’s prone body and pressed down on his chest with all his weight, his tiny feet dangling in the air. 

“ _Truuuuuuuue… Looooooooovvve…_ ” was the reply that came out of Neal in a long, pained groan.

“True Love! You see?” Peter said. “What cause could be nobler?”

Moz leaned against the table and looked wistful for a moment. “Yeah, True Love is something – maybe the greatest thing in the world. Except for a nice, heady Bordeaux, you know? Aged properly? I had one in Paris once that was… well… is sublime the appropriate word? I’m not sure – I’ll have to consult a Thesaurus.” He shook himself out of his reverie. “Anyway, that’s not what he said at all.”

“What?”

“Look, he clearly said ‘to blave,’ which we all know is an Old English word for ‘to bluff.’ So, what – you were playing cards and he cheated you?”

“Liar! You are so full of shit, Moz!”

Peter and Jones turned, surprised, as a stunning young redhead entered the room. She pointed accusingly at Miracle Moz, her large eyes flashing. 

“Go back, witch!” he said, making an anti-hex sign.

“I’m no witch, I’m your wife!” she said, hands on her hips and head cocked to the side. Peter and Jones traded impressed faces. “But after what you just said, I’m not sure I even want to be that anymore!”

“You’ve never had it so good!”

She strode up to him, snagged him by the ear, and hissed. “ _You_ have never had it so good. And if you ever want any of _it_ again, you will help these men. True Love, Moz. He said, ‘True Love!’”

“Not another word, Sara!” Moz complained, but she had already turned to address Peter and Jones.

“He’s afraid, my husband. Ever since Prince Adler fired him, his confidence has been shattered.”

“Why would you say that?” Moz whined. “And I thought I asked you never to say that name in my presence.” He was truly hurt now, and she went up to him, cradling his head against her. 

“I’m sorry, darling, but you must help them.”

“I’m not listening.”

“True Love is dying, and you won’t help? That’s not the man I married. That Adler schmuck really did a number on you.”

“Sara, please –“ he moaned, burying his face against her breasts.

Peter leaned forward then, eyes shining as he got a sudden insight. “This man is Princess Elizabeth’s True Love. If you heal him, it will stop Adler’s wedding!” 

Suddenly, all grief and upset had disappeared, and Miracle Moz looked at him shrewdly. “Wait. You mean if I heal him, Adler suffers?”

“Humiliations galore.”

“’Nuff said. Sara, get me my books!”

“Yippee!” Sara hopped for joy a little and ran off to help him gather supplies.

An hour later, she stood at his elbow and painted a rather alarmingly large pill with a coating of rich Belgian chocolate. 

“That’s a miracle pill?” Jones asked, dubious.

“The chocolate helps it go down easier,” Sara told him, and then popped it into a small pouch and handed it to Peter. “But you should wait fifteen minutes for it to reach full potency before you give it to him. And he should probably avoid alcohol for, what, honey – a day or two?”

“Make it a week, to be safe,” Miracle Moz said. 

Sara smiled at him fondly and put her hand on his cheek, “My Miracle Man, so smart,” she purred and then kissed him deeply. Miracle Moz leaned up against her and she clutched at his face; he ran his hands up her back and then she hiked her knee up against him and began grinding.

“OK, so… guess we’ll be going…” Peter said, uncomfortable.

“Oh, of course,” Miracle Moz said, disengaging from his wife’s arms and straightening out his glasses, which were falling off his face. He escorted them to the door, Jones carrying Neal in his arms like a baby. 

“Bye, boys. Good luck!” Sara called after them, pinching Moz’s ass.

Moz jumped delightedly, then waved at them as they left. “Have fun storming the castle!” 

\----

Peter and Jones found themselves on a small hill overlooking the Palace’s main gate and saw that there were far more than thirty men now guarding it, a fact Jones felt compelled to point out.

“OK, I’ll allow it’s not looking as good as before. But we’ve got him,” Peter indicated Neal. They were hiding behind a small retaining wall that concealed them from sight of the gates. Peter pulled Neal into a sitting position against his chest and forced his mouth open. “Help me, Jones? We’ll have to force the pill down his throat.”

“Has it been fifteen minutes?” Jones asked, handing Peter the pill.

“It must have – we had to walk all the way over.” Peter tilted Neal’s head back against his shoulder and popped the pill into his mouth, then massaged his throat until it seemed as if he’d swallowed it.

“How long should it take…” Jones began to ask, but immediately Neal sprang to life.

“You fiends! I’ll take you all on! Where’s my sword!”

“I guess not long,” Peter observed. 

Neal was agitated in Peter’s arms, but largely unmoving. “Why won’t my arms move?”

“You’ve been mostly dead all day,” Jones informed me.

“We got Miracle Moz to make a pill to bring you back,” Peter explained.

He was still confused. “Who are you? Are we enemies? Where’s Elizabeth?”

Peter moved Neal so that he was seated comfortably against the wall, and then addressed him. “Let me explain.” He thought a moment. “No, there is too much to explain, so I’ll give you the bullets. Elizabeth is set to marry Adler in less than half an hour. So, we need to get into the Palace, stop the wedding, steal the Princess and make our escape. Oh, after I kill Count Keller.”

Neal eyed Peter and recognition dawned. “You’re that ex-sheriff swordsman for hire I met all those weeks ago.”

“Hi.”

Neal looked up at Jones, who in fact was difficult to miss. “And you’re the giant I lay that sleeper hold on.”

“Yeah, about that –“

“Look, we don’t have time,” Peter said urgently. 

“You’re right,” Neal said, twitching his right forefinger.

“You just wiggled your finger – that’s impressive,” Jones noted.

“I’ve always been a quick healer. Now, we don’t have much time to plan. What are our liabilities?”

“There is but one way into the Palace proper and it’s guarded by sixty men.” Peter put his hands under Neal's arms, lifted him up so he could see, then settled him back down.

“And our assets?”

“Your brains, Jones’ strength, and my steel.”

“That’s it? Impossible! If I had a month to plan, maybe, but –“ He shook his head.

“You just shook your head!” Jones said. “That’s wonderful.”

Neal glared at him. “My brains, your strength and his steel against sixty and you think a little head jiggle is wonderful? I mean, if we had a wheelbarrow, _maybe_ -“

“Where did we put the wheelbarrow the albino had?” Peter asked.

“Over the albino, I think.”

“Why didn’t you list that among our assets in the first place?” Neal snitted. “Man, what I would do for a holocaust cloak about now.”

“I don’t even know what that is,” Peter admitted.

“Will this do?” Jones asked, pulling a long, dark garment from inside his shirt.

“Where’d that come from?”

“From Miracle Moz. I liked it so much, he gave it to me for half price.”

“OK, OK, help me up,” Neal said impatiently, “help me up. I’ll need a sword eventually.”

“What for – you can hardly lift it,” Peter pointed out.

“True, but we’re the only ones who know that. Attitude and presentation are all you need to sell a con sometimes.” Peter obligingly strapped a scabbard around Neal's waist. “Now, there may be some difficulties once we’re inside. Here’s what we’ll do…”

\----

Elizabeth sat staring at her image in the mirror as her ladies prepared her for the wedding. A movement out of the corner of her eye turned out to be her betrothed. “You don’t seem excited, my poppet,” Adler pouted.

She sighed – he was such a pill. “Should I be?”

“I understand brides often are.”

She shrugged and looked away. “I do not marry _tonight_. Neal will come for me.”

Thirty minutes later, she stood at the altar with her delicate hand engulfed in Adler’s carefully manicured one, with Archbishop Hughes standing before him. The old fellow, tall and painfully thin, looked like he was about to collapse under the weight of his elaborate vestments. 

“Mawwiage!” Hughes intoned. “Mawwiage is what bwings us togethew today! Mawwiage, that bwessed awwangement, that dweam within a dweam!”

Elizabeth, Adler and most of those assembled in the Palace chapel jumped at a shout and a crash outside the gate.

“ _Stand your ground men!_ ” Captain Fowler’s voice carried over them. “ _STAND YOUR GROUND!_ ”

Outside, Jones, clad in his new holocaust cloak, glided as if he flew towards the sixty men in front of the gate. “I am the Dread Highwayman Caffrey!” he shouted, deepening his voice for effect. “There will be no survivors!”

The men began to show disquiet, and many of them drew their swords.

Behind Jones, Peter struggled to keep the wheelbarrow steady as he rolled Jones forward. Neal, being nearly paralyzed, sat leaning against the back of Jones’ legs. “Now?” Peter grunted.

“Not yet,” Neal muttered.

“The Dread Highwayman Caffrey leaves no survivors!” Jones continued, clearly enjoying his role as nightmare monster. He held his hands out, the sleeves of the cloak billowing dramatically in the breeze. “All your worst nightmares are about to come true!”

“How about now?” Peter gasped, shaking – he wasn’t sure how much longer he could manage.

“Light him up.”

Peter lit the holocaust cloak, which was immediately engulfed in orange flames three feet high. 

“Stay where you are!” Fowler ordered his men fruitlessly.

“The Dread Highwayman Caffrey has come for your SOULS!” Jones pronounced, and all of the men save Captain Fowler hightailed it out of there.

Inside the chapel, Archbishop Hughes was going on with the ceremony as if total chaos had not erupted just outside the gate. “And wuv, twue wuv, wiww fowwow you fowevah. So tweasuwe youw wuv – “

Outside, Jones flung the holocaust cloak aside, it having lived up to its promise, and he and Peter advanced on Captain Fowler. “Give us the key,” Peter ordered him calmly.

“Key? I have no key.”

“Jones, tear his arm off and beat him to death with it.”

“Oh, did you say key?” Fowler stammered, producing one from a pocket inside his jacket. “Here you are.”

At the altar, Adler was getting increasingly antsy. “Skip to the end!” he ordered Archbishop Hughes.

Hughes blinked at him. “Have you a wing?”

Adler glanced at Elizabeth, who watched the doors of the cathedral expectantly. “I killed your Neal myself,” he delighted in telling her. 

“Then why is there fear behind your eyes?” she observed calmly.

Hughes cleared his throat and continued with the ceremony. “Do you Pwincess Ewizabeff take this man –“

“Man and wife!” Adler said sharply to the cleric, growing impatient with the pomp. “Just say man and wife!”

“Man and wife?” Hughes said.

And then the despair she’d been holding at bay for so many weeks finally descended on Elizabeth as she realized that Neal had not come for her, and that she was now married to the most vile and venal man in the Two Kingdoms. 

“He didn’t come,” she said, shock compelling her to speak. She didn’t notice that Adler was leading her out of the chapel, handing her off to her ladies. 

“Escort the Princess to her chambers,” he said, and Elizabeth meekly let them.

\----

In the corridor just outside the chapel, Peter advanced with his sword drawn, ready to fight. Jones brought up the rear, Neal's limp body under his right arm. It did not take time for them to meet with resistance, but he could not believe his luck when the first group of defenders he encountered included Count Keller.

“You!” Peter said, immediately dropping into a fighting stance.

Keller smiled smugly, then gestured at Peter as he ordered his men to attack. “Kill that one and the giant, but leave the third for questioning.” His men immediately complied, but Peter made short work of them, killing half a dozen in less than twenty seconds. 

Taking two steps toward Keller, Peter raised his sword, locked his eyes on the villain’s, and said in a low and dangerous voice, “Hello. My name is Peter Burke. You killed my daughter. Prepare to die.”

Keller immediately turned on his heel and ran toward a heavy door nearby, disappearing behind it. 

Peter gave immediate chase, but the door was locked and he could not budge it. He threw his shoulder against it once, twice, a third time, but it was too heavy. “Jones!” he screamed, desperate. “He’s getting away!”

“I can’t leave him alone!” Jones said, referring to Neal, who looked at Peter with sympathy in his eyes, but in his current state, there was little he could do.

“Jones! I need you!”

Jones looked down on Neal apologetically and threaded his arms around the waist of a suit of armor that stood conveniently nearby. Neal sagged against it but did not fall. “Sorry, but I’ll be right back.”

“Carry on,” Neal told him.

“Jones!”

Jones went and tore the door off its hinges for Peter, who disappeared down the corridor on its other side. When Jones turned to retrieve Neal, he found that he too had gone.

“Now what?” he asked no one in particular.

\----

Elizabeth was joined at the door to her chambers by Old King Byron and his wife, Queen June. When she put her hand on the doorknob, she suddenly knew what she must do. Somehow, the clarity it offered her made her feel calmer. She turned to the old king, got up on her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek.

“What was that for?” he said.

“Because you've always been so kind to me, and I won't be seeing you again. I’ll be killing myself once I get inside.”

King Byron, who was nearly deaf, patted her on the hand and said. “Won’t that be nice, dear.” Then he turned to his wife and beamed. “She kissed me!” 

“Yes, dear,” June said and Elizabeth watched them toddle off for their afternoon nap.

\----

Peter chased Keller headlong down a series of stairwells and corridors, further into the bowels of the palace. He didn’t know how far he had gone, nor where the chase would take him, and he didn’t much care. The only thought in his head was catching Keller, and the only image in his mind was of Diana’s body lying in her coffin, his arm around her girlfriend Christie as she wept bitterly.

At length, he came upon a closed door and hoped it was not also locked. It was not, and he hauled it open, rushing through it without looking. A stabbing pain brought him up short and he looked down at the dagger protruding from his belly. 

Peter’s legs turned to water and he fell to his knees. He heard a laugh and looked up; there before him with a triumphant grin on his hateful face stood Count Keller. He walked up to Peter and stood there, arrogance pouring off of him. “You must be that sheriff I taught that lesson to all those years ago. That was your daughter? Forgive me, I didn’t know – you looked nothing alike.”

“She was like a daughter –“ Peter gasped, wincing as he pulled the dagger out.

“And you’ve been looking for me all of this time? It’s been what – ten years? Only to fail now? I think that’s the most pathetic thing I have ever heard.”

Peter winced at the pain in his belly, reached a shaking hand down to try to staunch the flow of blood. He struggled to his feet and Keller took a step back.

“Good God, are you still trying to win?” Keller mocked. “You’ve got an overdeveloped sense of vengeance if ever I’ve seen one. I’d study it if my own work wasn’t currently so all-encompassing.”

Peter tried to straighten his back, raised his sword with a hand that was shaking terribly now. “Hello. My name is Peter Burke. You killed my daughter. Prepare to die,” he said weakly. 

Keller thrust his sword at Peter, who parried it away from his chest, if not entirely successfully – the tip of the sword pierced his left shoulder.

“Hello. My name is Peter Burke. You killed my daughter. Prepare to die.” Peter’s voice was louder this time, as the words he’d longed to say for a decade began to give him power.

Keller lunged again, and Peter once again parried. This time, Keller’s sword merely cut his right arm.

“Hello! My name is Peter Burke. You killed my daughter. Prepare to die.” He surged forward as the adrenaline and the words – his mantra for so long – made him increasingly strong.

“Hello. My name is Peter Burke. You killed my daughter. Prepare to die!”

“Stop saying that!” Keller ordered, lunging forward, but Peter easily deflected this attack.

Now Peter’s voice was a roar as he himself went on the offensive. “Hello! My name is Peter Burke. You killed my daughter. Prepare to die!” He bashed his sword against Keller’s - the metal clanging loudly in the enclosed space - and advanced, all of his skills and training finally paying off. 

“Hello. My name is Peter Burke. You killed my daughter. Prepare to die!” 

He soon had Keller disarmed, backed up against a nearby table and sniveling. Peter flicked the tip of his sword twice at Keller’s face, slicing his cheeks in an exact replica of the horrific scars that marred Peter’s own handsome face.

“No!” Keller begged. “Please!”

“Offer me money,” Peter said, and stabbed him in the left shoulder.

“Yes!”

“Power too. Promise me that!” Peter flicked his wrist and cut Keller’s right arm.

“All that I have and more!!”

“Offer me everything I ask for!”

“Anything you want!” Keller said, but he had a stiletto up his sleeve, which he unwisely tried to use to stab Peter. 

Peter easily caught his wrist with his left hand, then ran Keller through with his sword, leaning forward so that he could whisper into his enemy’s ear, “I want Diana back, you son of a bitch!”

\----

In her chamber, Elizabeth paused briefly at her door, as if bidding the outside world farewell, then crossed over to her dressing table. On the top was a beautiful gift box, inlaid with ivory and semiprecious stones; inside she knew was a set of steak knives, a gift from some Duke somewhere. She took one up, tested the keenness of its blade against her thumb and pressed its tip to the space between her breasts.

“There is a shortage of perfect breasts in this world,” said a familiar voice from behind her. “It would be a pity to damage those.”

She spun around to find her love lying on his back on her bed. “Neal!” She ran to him and straddled him, taking his face in her hands and kissing him all over. “Oh Neal! My darling! I knew you’d come!”

Neal kissed her back but did not lift his arms to place them around her, a feeling she had been longing for for weeks. “Neal,” she said between kisses, “why won’t you hold me?”

“Gently, darling.”

She sat back, pulling him with her. “Gently? I’m jumping your bones here, and all you can say is ‘gently’?” She let him go and his head fell back against the headboard with a dull thump. 

“Ow.”

But she ignored his total lack of movement. “Oh Neal, I hope you can forgive me!”

He smiled at her indulgently. “What hideous sin have you committed?”

“I got married,” she said in a small voice. “I didn’t mean to! But it all went by so fast.”

“Never happened.”

“What?”

“It never happened.”

She gave him her patented, “don’t be stupid” look. “It did, hon, I was there. This old guy said ‘man and wife.’”

“Did you say ‘I do,’ or any vows?”

“Well, no. They skipped that part.”

“Then you’re not married. If you didn’t say it, you didn’t do it. That’s kind of the point of the vows. Wouldn’t you agree, Prince?”

Elizabeth was shocked to realize that Adler had entered her chamber uninvited and unheard – the man was 100% creeper. She scrambled off of Neal and the bed.

“A technicality. We’ll fix it soon enough.” He drew his sword. “Shall we fight to the death? And I’ll be sure to make this one stick.”

“No,” Neal said, still remaining unmoving on the bed. “We’ll fight to the pain.”

Adler cocked his head mockingly. “To the pain? I’m not familiar with that one.”

“Then I’ll explain in short-syllabled words so that even an inbred moron such as you can understand.”

“That may be the first time in my life a man has dared insult me!” 

“Really? It won’t be the last.” Neal drew a breath and fixed Adler with an intense look, his eyes as cold and hard as Elizabeth had perceived them on the plains of Jardin. She suddenly realized how he could have embodied the Dread Highwayman Caffrey for the last few years. “To the pain means the first thing you will lose will be your feet below the ankles. Then your hands at the wrists, and then your nose.”

“And, I suppose my tongue too. I killed you too quickly last time, Caffrey.”

Neal's eyes flashed. “I wasn't finished. The next thing you will lose will be your left eye, followed by your right.”

Adler made a get-on-with-it gesture with his hand. “And then my ears. I think I’m catching your drift.” 

“Wrong!” Neal shouted. “Your ears you keep, and I'll tell you why. So that every shriek of every child at seeing your hideousness will be yours to cherish. Every babe that weeps at your approach, every woman who cries out, ‘Dear God, _what is that thing?_ ’ will echo in your perfect ears. That is what ‘to the pain’ means. It means I leave you in anguish, wallowing in freakish misery forever.”

Adler took a step backward at Neal's horrifying description. “You’re bluffing.”

“It's possible, pig. I might be bluffing. It's conceivable, you miserable, vomitous mass, that the only reason I'm lying here is because I lack the strength to stand. Then again, perhaps I have the strength after all.” Neal slowly sat up and got out of the bed. He pulled the sword from the scabbard at his waist and leveled it at Adler, its point not wavering, nor his voice as he said, “Now. Drop. Your. Sword.”

Being the coward he was, Adler let his sword drop to the floor with a clatter. “Have a seat,” Neal ordered, and Adler took the one that sat in front of Elizabeth’s dressing table. Neal looked over to her and smiled. “Tie him up.” She leapt to comply, using the sashes from the drapes. “Make it as tight as you like,” Neal advised, and Elizabeth was only too happy to comply, Adler whimpering in protest as she did.

A movement in the doorway got her attention. It was Peter, the man who had been so kind to her when she’d been kidnapped weeks earlier. His handsome face was drawn, and she could see the blood staining his clothes. She rushed to his side to help him, but he stayed her with a blood-smeared hand. “I’ll be fine. It is Neal who needs your help.”

Elizabeth looked over and saw that Neal was trembling with the effort of remaining upright. She rushed to his side before he fell. “Why does he need helping?” she asked. 

“Because he has no strength.”

“I knew it! I knew he was bluffing!” Adler crowed from his seat. 

Peter gave him a dirty look. “Shall I kill this sniveling toad for you?” he asked Neal.

“Thanks, that means a lot, but no. Whatever happens to us, I want him to live a long life alone with his cowardice.”

“Where’s Jones?”

“He’s not with you?” Neal asked. 

There was a sharp whistle in the courtyard outside Elizabeth’s window and they rushed over to find that Jones had somehow procured four white steeds, plus Elizabeth’s beloved dog Satchmo, and was waiting for them below. 

“There you are, Peter!” he said, waving. “Hello, Princess.”

“Hello,” Elizabeth called to him with a smile. 

Jones blushed and toed at the dirt with his boot. “So I thought we could use these horses to get away. Do you want to come down?”

“We’ll be there in a moment,” Neal called down, and turned to go, Elizabeth supporting both he and Peter. 

\----

Some weeks later, Neal and Elizabeth found Peter in the gardens of Neal’s estate on a remote island outside Manhattan known as Feu. They’d retreated here after making their escape from the Palace, and had remained safe – the Prince dared not pursue. Elizabeth had insisted on seeing to Peter’s wounds herself, and he seemed to be at least functional as he and Jones prepared to take their leave the next morning. 

“I wish you wouldn’t go,” Neal said, taking a seat on a small wall beside him.

But Peter couldn’t look at him and his face colored. “I have to.”

“We don’t know how to repay you for all that you’ve done,” Neal said, and laid a hand on Peter’s arm. 

Peter, who’d realized days earlier he had feelings for both Neal and Elizabeth, flinched away. “There is no need,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. He didn’t think he could bear being with them any longer – their love was so strong, he did not want to spoil it by mooning over them.

“But must you go?” Elizabeth said, seating herself on his other side. 

“I – I have to sort things out, you know?” Peter stammered as her hand rested lightly on the back of his neck. “I’ve been in the vengeance business for so long, I’m not sure what do to with myself.”

“You could stay here,” she suggested. “I for one would like that. What do you think, my love?”

Neal's hand joined hers on Peter’s neck, and their fingers entwined. “As you wish,” he answered. They leaned across Peter to kiss each other. He watched with such longing, wondering at their behavior, wishing he could participate. And then, the thing he’d wished since he first met them and heard their story, had first seen their love for each other first hand, finally came true. Neal and Elizabeth turned their faces to Peter and included him in their embrace.

And so Neal, Elizabeth, and Peter lived on together happily and perfectly in love until the end of their long lives. For the course of True Love has never been a predictable one, nor is there anything to say it only has room for two.

\----

The End

Thank you for your time!!!


End file.
